I-^A-;*  u_s     ..  ^-     *-•:•;- 

•  ;\-          fi  ••  -: 


OTHER  THINGS  BEING  EQUAL 


nob  afctUetfj  JFaitfj,  $ope,  Itobe,  tfjrse  tftw;  but  tfje 
greatest  of  tfjtse  is  ILote." 


OTHER   THINGS    BEING 
EQUAL 


BY 


EMMA    WOLF 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.    McCLURG    AND    COMPANY 
1892 

P 
VHIVIRSITT] 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  MCCLURG  AND  Co. 

A.D.   l8Q2 


7-  \ rr    p  /  r  r  r  p 

'  ' 

Uil  U,  V  'IS  JK  SI  TV] 


OTHER    THINGS    BEING    EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  HUMMING-BIRD  dipped  through  the  air  and 
lit  upon  the  palm-free  just  below  the  open  win- 
dow ;  the  long  drowsy  call  of  a  crowing  cock  came 
from  afar  off;  the  sun  spun  down  in  the  subdued 
splendor  of  a  hazy  veil.  It  was  a  dustless,  hence  an 
anomalous,  summer's  afternoon  in  San  Francisco. 

Ruth  Levice  sat  near  the  window,  lazily  rocking, 
her  long  lithe  arms  clasped  about  her  knees,  her  face 
a  dream  of  the  day.  The  seasons  single  out  their 
favorite  moods  :  a  violet  of  spring-time  woos  one, 
a  dusky  June  rose  another ;  to-day  the  soft,  languor- 
ous air  had,  unconsciously  to  her,  charmed  the  girl's 
waking  dream. 

So  removed  was  she  in  spirit  from  her  surround- 
ings that  she  heard  with  an  obvious  start  a  knock  at 
the  door.  The  knock  was  immediately  followed  by  a 
smiling,  plump  young  woman,  sparkling  of  eye,  rosy 
of  cheek,  and  glistening  with  jewels  and  silk. 

"  Here  you  are,  Ruth,"  she  exclaimed,  kissing  her 
heartily ;  whereupon  she  sank  into  a  chair,  and  threw 
back  her  bonnet-strings  with  an  air  of  relief.  "  I 
came  up  here  at  once  when  the  maid  said  your 
mother  was  out.  Where  is  she?" 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Out  calling.  You  look  heated,  Jennie ;  let  me 
fan  you." 

"  Thanks.  How  refreshing  !  Sandal-wood,  is  it 
not?  Where  is  your  father?  " 

"  He  is  writing  in  the  library.  Do  you  wish  to 
see  him?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  must  see  you  alone.  I  am  so  glad 
Aunt  Esther  is  out.  Why  are  n't  you  with  her,  Ruth  ? 
You  should  not  let  your  mother  go  off  alone." 

The  young  girl  laughed  in  merry  surprise. 

"  Why,  Jennie,  you  forgot  that  Mamma  has  been 
used  all  her  life  to  going  out  without  me ;  it  is  only 
within  the  last  few  months  that  I  have  been  her 
companion." 

"  I  know,"  replied  her  visitor,  leaning  back  with  a 
grim  expression  of  disapproval,  "  and  I  think  it  the 
queerest  arrangement  I  ever  heard  of.  The  idea  of  a 
father  having  the  sole  care  of  a  daughter  up  to  her 
twenty-first  birthday,  and  then  delivering  her,  like  a 
piece  of  joint  property,  over  to  her  mother  !  Oh,  I 
know  that  according  to  their  lights  it  did  not  seem 
absurd,  but  the  very  idea  of  it  is  contrary  to  nature. 
Of  course  we  all  know  that  your  father  was  peculiarly 
fitted  to  undertake  your  training,  and  in  this  way  your 
mother  could  more  easily  indulge  her  love  of  society ; 
but  as  it  is,  no  wonder  she  is  as  jealous  of  your  suc- 
cess in  her  realm  as  your  father  was  in  his ;  no  won- 
der she  overdoes  things  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 
How  do  you  like  it,  Ruth  ?  " 

"What?"  softly  inquired  her  cousin,  slowly  wav- 
ing the  dainty  fan,  while  a  smile  lighted  up  the  gravity 
of  her  face  at  this  onslaught. 

"  Going  out  continually  night  after  night." 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  9 

"  Mamma  likes  it." 

"  Cela  va  sans  dire.  But,  Ruth,  —  stop  fanning 
a  minute,  please,  —  I  want  to  know,  candidly  and 
seriously,  would  you  mind  giving  it  up  ?  " 

"  Candidly  and  seriously,  I  would  do  so  to-day 
forever." 

"  Ye-es  ;  your  father's  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Lewis, 
speaking  more  slowly,  her  bright  eyes  noting  the  per- 
fect repose  of  the  young  girl's  person ;  "  and  yet  you 
are  having  some  quiet  little  conquests,  —  the  golden 
apples  of  your  mother's  Utopia.  But  to  come  to 
the  point,  do  you  realize  that  your  mother  is 
very  ill?" 

"Ill  —  my  mother?"  The  sudden  look  of  con- 
sternation that  scattered  the  soft  tranquillity  of  her 
face  must  have  fully  repaid  Mrs.  Lewis  if  she  was 
aiming  at  a  sensation. 

"  There,  sit  down.  Don't  be  alarmed ;  you  know 
she  is  out  and  apparently  well." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  Aunt  Esther  is  nervous  and  hysteri- 
cal. The  other  day  at  our  house  she  had  such  an 
attack  of  hysteria  that  I  was  obliged  to  call  in  a 
neighboring  doctor.  She  begged  us  not  to  mention 
it  to  either  of  you,  and  then  insisted  on  attending  a 
meeting  of  some  sort.  However,  I  thought  it  over 
and  decided  to  let  you  know,  as  I  consider  it  serious. 
I  was  afraid  to  alarm  Uncle,  so  I  thought  of  telling 
you." 

"  Thank  you,  Jennie  ;  I  shall  speak  to  Father  about 
it."  The  young  girl's  tone  was  quite  unagitated; 
but  two  pink  spots  on  her  usually  colorless  cheeks 
betrayed  her  emotion. 

'TJ  IT  17  ER  SIT  7] 


IO  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  That  is  right,  dear.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me 
if  I  seem  meddlesome,  but  Jo  and  I  have  noticed  it 
for  some  time ;  and  your  father,  by  allowing  this  con- 
tinual gayety,  seems  to  have  overlooked  what  we  find 
so  sadly  apparent.  Of  course  you  have  an  engage- 
ment for  to-night?  " 

"  Yes ;  we  are  going  to  a  reception  at  the 
Merrills'." 

"  Merrill?     Christians?  "  was  the  sharp  reply. 

"The  name  speaks  for  itself." 

"  What  does  possess  your  parents  to  mix  so  much 
with  Christians?" 

"  Fellow-feeling,  I  suppose.  We  all  dance  and 
talk  alike  ;  and  as  we  do  not  hold  services  at  recep- 
tions, wherein  lies  the  difference?  " 

"  There  is  a  difference ;  and  the  Christians  know  it 
as  well  as  we  Jewish  people.  Not  only  do  they 
know  it,  but  they  show  it  in  countless  ways ;  and  the 
difference,  they  think,  is  all  to  their  credit.  For  my 
part,  I  always  feel  as  if  they  looked  down  on  us, 
and  I  should  like  to  prove  to  them  how  we  differ 
on  that  point.  I  have  enough  courage  to  let  them 
know  I  consider  myself  as  good  as  the  best  of 
them." 

"  Is  that  why  you  wear  diamonds  and  silk  on  the 
street,  Jennie?"  asked  Ruth,  her  serious  tones  im- 
plying no  impudence,  but  carrying  a  refined  reproach. 

"Hardly.  I  wear  them  because  I  have  them 
and  like  them.  I  see  no  harm  in  wearing  what  is 
becoming." 

"  But  don't  you  think  they  look  aggressive  on  the 
street  ?  They  attract  attention ;  and  one  hates  to  be 
conspicuous.  I  think  they  are  only  in  place  at  a 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  II 

gathering  of  friends  of  one's  own  social  standing, 
where  they  do  not  proclaim  one's  moneyed  value." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Mrs.  Lewis,  her  rosy  face  a  little 
rosier  than  before.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  to  say  it  is 
vulgar;  well,  maybe  so.  But  I  scarcely  think  a 
little  outward  show  of  riches  should  make  others  feel 
they  are  better  because  they  do  not  care  to  make  a 
display.  Besides,  to  be  less  personal,  I  don't  think 
any  Christian  would  care  to  put  himself  out  to  meet 
a  Jew  of  any  description." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  depend  a  great  deal 
both  on  Jew  and  Christian?  I  always  have  been  led 
to  believe  that  every  broad-minded  man  of  whatever 
sect  will  recognize  and  honor  the  same  quality  in  any 
other  man.  And  why  should  I  not  move  on  an 
equality  with  my  Christian  friends?  We  have  had 
the  same  schooling,  speak  the  same  language,  read 
the  same  books,  are  surrounded  by  the  same  elements 
of  home  refinement.  Probably  if  they  had  not  been 
congenial,  my  father  would  long  ago  have  ceased  to 
associate  with  them.  I  think  the  secret  of  it  all  is  in 
the  fact  that  it  never  occurred  to  us  that  the  most 
fastidious  could  think  we  were  anything  but  the 
most  fastidious;  and  so  we  always  met  any  one 
we  desired  to  meet  on  a  level  footing.  I  have  a 
great  many  pleasant  friends  in  the  court  of  your 
Philistines." 

"  Possibly.  But  not  having  been  brought  up  by 
your  father,  I  think  differently,  and  perhaps  am  dif- 
ferent. Their  ways  are  not  my  ways ;  and  what  good 
can  you  expect  from  such  association?" 

"Why,  pleasant  companionship.  What  wouldst 
thou  more  ?  " 


12  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  ?  Not  even  that.  But  tell  me,  can't  you  dis- 
suade Aunt  Esther  from  going  to-night?  Tell  your 
father,  and  let  him  judge  if  you  had  better  not." 

"  I  really  think  Mamma  would  not  care  to  go,  for 
she  said  as  much  to  Father ;  but,  averse  as  he  gener- 
ally is  to  going  out,  he  insists  on  our  going  to-night, 
and,  what  is  more,  intends  to  accompany  us,  although 
Louis  is  going  also.  But  if  you  think  Mamma  is 
seriously  run  down,  I  shall  tell  him  immediately, 
and  —  " 

A  blithe  voice  at  the  door  interrupted  her,  calling  : 

"  Open  the  door,  Ruth ;  my  hands  are  full." 

She  rose  hastily,  and  with  a  signal  of  silence 
to  her  loquacious  cousin,  opened  the  door  for  her 
mother. 

"Ah,  Jennie,  how  are  you,  dear?  But  let  us  in- 
spect this  box  which  Nora  has  just  handed  me,  be- 
fore we  consider  you ;  "  and  Mrs.  Levice  softly  de- 
posited a  huge  box  upon  Ruth's  lace-enveloped  bed. 

She  was  still  bonneted  and  gloved,  and  with  a 
slight  flush  in  her  clear  olive  cheek  she  looked  like 
anything  but  a  subject  for  fears.  From  the  crown  of 
her  dainty  bonnet  to  the  point  of  her  boot  she  was 
the  picture  of  exquisite  refinement;  tall,  beautifully 
formed,  carrying  her  head  like  a  queen,  gowned  in 
perfect,  quiet  elegance,  she  appeared  more  like  Ruth's 
older  sister  than  her  mother. 

"Ruth's  gown  for  this  evening,"  she  announced, 
deftly  unfolding  the  wrappings. 

"  Yellow  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lewis,  in  surprise. 

"Corn-color,"  corrected  Mrs.  Levice,  playfully; 
"  how  do  you  think  it  will  suit  my  girlie?  "  she  con- 
tinued, shaking  out  the  clinging  silken  crepe. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  13 

"Charmingly;  but  I  thought  Ruth  objected  to 
anything  but  white." 

"  So  she  does ;  she  thinks  white  keeps  her  un- 
noticed among  the  rest.  This  time,  however,  my  will 
overrode  hers.  Eh,  Daughter?" 

The  girl  made  a  low  courtesy. 

"I  am  only  lady-in-waiting  to  your  Majesty,  O 
Queen,"  she  laughed.  She  had  hardly  glanced  at 
the  gown,  being  engaged  in  a  silent  scrutiny  of  her 
mother's  face. 

"And  how  is  my  prime  minister  this  afternoon?" 
Mrs.  Levice  was  drawing  off  her  gloves,  and  Ruth's 
look  of  pained  discovery  passed  unnoticed. 

"  I  have  not  been  down  since  luncheon,"  she 
replied. 

"  What !  Then  go  down  at  once  and  bring  him 
up.  I  must  see  that  he  gets  out  of  his  studiousness 
and  is  clothed  in  festive  mind  for  this  evening. 
Come  to  my  sitting-room,  Jennie,  and  we  can  have  a 
comfortable  chat." 

Left  to  herself,  Ruth  hesitated  before  going  to  her 
father  with  her  ill-boding  tidings.  None  knew  bet- 
ter than  she  of  the  great,  silent  love  that  bound  her 
parents.  As  a  quiet,  observant  child,  she  had  often 
questioned  wherein  could  be  any  sympathy  between 
her  father,  almost  old,  studious,  and  reserved,  and  her 
beautiful,  worldly  young  mother.  But  as  she  matured, 
she  became  conscious  that  because  of  this  apparent 
disparity  it  would  have  been  still  stranger  had  Mrs. 
Levice  not  loved  him  with  a  feeling  verging  nearer 
humble  adoration  than  any  lower  passion.  It  seemed 
almost  a  mockery  for  her  to  have  to  tell  him  he  had 
been  negligent,  —  not  only  a  mockery,  but  a  cruelty. 


14  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

However,  it  had  to  be  done,  and  she  was  the  only  one 
to  do  it.  Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  she  ran 
quickly  downstairs,  and  softly,  without  knocking, 
opened  the  library  door. 

She  entered  so  quietly  that  Mr.  Levice,  reading  by 
the  window,  did  not  glance  from  his  book.  She 
stood  a  moment  regarding  the  small  thoughtful-faced, 
white-haired  man. 

If  one  were  to  judge  but  by  results,  Jules  Levice 
would  be  accounted  a  fortunate  man.  N earing  the 
allotted  threescore  and  ten,  blessed  with  a  loving, 
beloved  wife  and  this  one  idolized  ewe-lamb,  sur- 
rounded by  luxury,  in  good  health,  honored,  and 
honorable,  —  trouble  and  travail  seemed  to  have 
passed  him  by.  But  this  scene  of  human  happiness 
was  the  result  of  intelligent  and  unremitting  effort. 
A  high  state  of  earthly  beatitude  has  seldom  been 
attained  without  great  labor  of  mind  or  body  by 
ourselves  or  those  akin  to  us.  Jules  Levice  had 
been  thrown  on  the  world  when  a  boy  of  twelve.  He 
resolved  to  become  happy.  Many  of  us  do  likewise  ; 
but  we  overlook  the  fact  that  we  are  provided  with 
feet,  not  wings,  and  cannot  fly  to  the  goal.  His 
dream  of  happiness  was  ambitious ;  it  soared  beyond 
contentment.  Not  being  a  lily  of  the  field,  he  knew 
that  he  must  toil ;  any  honest  work  was  acceptable 
to  him.  He  was  possessed  of  a  fine  mind ;  he  culti- 
vated it.  He  had  a  keen  observation ;  he  became  a 
student  of  his  fellow-men ;  and  being  strong  and  un- 
tiring, he  became  rich.  This  was  but  the  nucleus  of 
his  arrbitions,  and  it  came  to  him  late  in  life,  but 
not  too  late  for  him  to  build  round  it  his  happy  home, 
and  to  surround  himself  with  the  luxuries  of  leisure  for 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  15 

attaining  the  pinnacle  of  wide  information  that  he 
had  always  craved.  His  was  merely  the  prosperity  of 
an  intellectual,  self-made  man  whose  time  for  rest 
had  come. 

Ruth  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool  that  she  drew  up 
before  him,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his. 

"You,  darling?"  He  spoke  in  a  full,  musical 
voice  with  a  marked  French  accent. 

"  Can  you  spare  me  a  few  minutes,  Father?  " 

"  I  am  all  ears ;  "  he  shut  the  book,  and  his  hand 
closed  about  hers. 

"Jennie  was  here  just  now." 

"  And  did  not  come  in  to  see  me? " 

"  She  had  something  to  tell  me." 

"A  secret?" 

"  Yes ;  something  I  must  repeat  to  you." 

"Yes?" 

"  Father  —  Jennie  thinks  —  she  has  reason  to  know 
that  —  dear,  do  you  think  Mother  is  perfectly  well?  " 

"  No,  my  child ;  I  know  she  is  not." 

This  quiet  assurance  was  staggering. 

"  And  you  allow  her  to  go  on  in  this  way  without 
calling  in  a  physician?  "  A  wave  of  indignant  color 
suffused  her  cheeks. 

"Yes." 

«  But —  but  —  why?"  She  became  a  little  con- 
fused under  his  calm  gaze,  feeling  on  the  instant  that 
she  had  implied  an  accusation  unjustly. 

"  Because,  Ruth,  I  have  become  convinced  of  it 
only  within  the  past  week.  Your  mother  knows  it 
herself,  and  is  trying  to  hide  it  from  me." 

"Did  she  admit  it?" 

"  I  have  not  spoken  of  it  to  her ;  she  is  very  excit- 


16  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

able,  and  as  she  wishes  to  conceal  it,  I  do  not  care  to 
annoy  her  by  telling  her  of  my  discovery." 

"  But  is  n't  it  wrong  —  unwise  —  to  allow  her  to 
dissipate  so  much?" 

"  I  have  managed  within  the  past  week  to  keep 
you  as  quiet  as  possible." 

"But  to-night  —  forgive  me,  Father  —  you  insist 
on  our  going  to  this  reception." 

"Yes,  my  sweet  confessor;  but  I  have  a  good 
reason,  —  one  not  to  be  spoken  of." 

"  *  Those  who  trust  us  educate  us,'  "  she  pleaded 
in  wistful  earnestness. 

"  Then  your  education  is  complete.  Well,  I  knew 
your  mother  would  resist  seeing  any  physician,  for 
fear  of  his  measures  going  contrary  to  her  desires ; 
so  I  have  planned  for  her  to  meet  to-night  a  certain 
doctor  whom  I  would  trust  professionally  with  my 
wife's  life,  and  on  whom  I  can  rely  for  the  necessary 
tact  to  hide  the  professional  object  of  their  meeting. 
What  do  you  think  of  my  way,  dear?  " 

For  answer  she  stooped  and  kissed  his  hand. 

"  May  I  know  his  name?  "  she  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  His  name  is  Kemp,  —  Dr.  Herbert  Kemp." 

"  Why,  he  lives  a  few  blocks  from  here ;  I  have 
seen  his  sign.  Is  he  an  old  physician?" 

"  I  should  judge  him  to  be  between  thirty-five  and 
forty.  Not  old  certainly,  but  one  with  the  highest 
reputation  for  skill.  Personally  he  is  a  man  of  great 
dignity,  inspiring  confidence  in  every  one." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?" 

"  In  the  hospitals,"  said  her  father  quickly.  "  But 
I  will  introduce  him  to  you  to-night.  Don't  lose  your 
head  when  you  talk  to  him." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  17 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  magnificent  fellow ;  and  I  wish 
my  daughter  to  hold  her  own  before  a  man  whom 
I  admire  so  heartily." 

"  Why,  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  ever  given 
me  worldly  advice,"  she  laughed. 

"  Only  a  friendly  hint,"  he  answered,  rising  and 
putting  his  book  in  its  place  with  the  precision  of  a 
spinster. 


1 8  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  '"T^HIS  is  what  I  call  a  worldly  paradise  ! "     A 

J.  girl  with  a  face  like  dear  Lady  Disdain's 
sank  into  a  divan  placed  near  the  conservatory ;  her 
voice  chimed  in  prettily  with  the  music  of  a  spray- 
ing fountain  and  the  soft  strains  of  remote  stringed 
instruments. 

"  Is  it  a  frivolous  conceit?  "  she  continued,  laugh- 
ing up  to  the  man  who  stood  beside  her ;  "  or  do 
the  soft  light  of  many  candles,  faint  music,  radiant 
women,  and  courtly  men,  satisfy  your  predilections 
also  that  such  a  place  is  as  near  heaven  as  this 
wicked  world  approaches  ?  " 

"  You  forget ;  paradise  was  occupied  by  but  two. 
To  my  notion,  nothing  can  be  farther  removed  from 
Elysium  than  a  modern  drawing-room  full  of  guests." 

"  And  leaving  out  the  guests  ?  " 

"  They  say  imagination  can  make  a  paradise  of  a 
desert,  given  the  necessary  contingencies." 

"  A  solitude  of  two  who  love  ?  Dr.  Kemp,  me- 
thinks  you  are  romantic." 

"You  supplied  the  romance,  Miss  Gwynne.  My 
knowledge  is  of  the  hard,  matter-of-fact  sort." 

"  Such  as  bones,  I  suppose.  Still  you  seem  to  be 
interested  in  the  soft-looking  piece  of  humanity  over 
by  that  cabinet." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  19 

"Yes;  his  expression  is  reminiscent  of  a  boy's 
definition  of  a  vacuum,  —  a  large  space  with  nothing 
in  it.  Who  is  he?" 

"  And  I  thought  you  not  unknown !  He  is  the 
husband  of  a  brilliant  woman,  Mrs.  Ames,  who  has 
written  a  novel.' 

"Clever?" 

"  Decidedly  so ;  it  stands  the  test  of  being  intoxi- 
cating and  leaving  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth,  —  like 
dry  champagne." 

"  Which  is  not  made  for  women." 

"  You  mean  school-girls.  There  she  is,  —  that 
wisp  of  a  creature  listening  so  eagerly  to  that  elegant 
youth  of  the  terrier  breed.  No  wonder  he  interests 
her ;  he  is  as  full  of  information  in  piquant  personal 
history  as  a  family  lawyer,  and  his  knowledge  is  as 
much  public  property  as  a  social  city  directory." 

"You  have  studied  him  to  advantage.  Are  you 
sure  you  have  not  stolen  a  leaf  from  him?" 

"  Dr.  Kemp  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  pouting  reproach, 
"do  I  appear  as  promiscuous  as  that?  You  may 
call  me  a  '  blue  book,'  but  spare  my  snobbery  the 
opprobrious  epithet  of  '  directory.'  There  goes  the 
fascinating  young  Mrs.  Shurly  with  Purcell  Burroughs 
in  her  toils.  Did  you  catch  the  fine  oratory  of  the 
glance  she  threw  us?  It  said,  'Dorothy  Gwynne, 
how  dare  you  appropriate  Dr.  Kemp  for  ten  long 
minutes  ?  Hand  him  over ;  pass  him  around.  7  want 
him ;  you  are  only  boring  him,  though  you  seem  to 
be  amusing  yourself." 

Kemp's  grave  lips  twitched  at  the  corners;  he 
was  without  doubt  amused. 

"Aren't  you  improvising?"  he   asked.      A   man 


20  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

need  only  offer  an  occasional  bumper  of  a  remark  to 
keep  the  conversation  from  flagging,  when  his  com- 
panion is  a  woman. 

"  No ;  you  evidently  do  not  know  what  a  feminine 
sneer  is  in  words.  Ah,  here  comes  the  Queen  of 
Sheba."  She  broke  off  with  a  pleased  smile  as 
Ruth  Levice  approached  on  the  arm  of  her  cousin, 
Louis  Arnold. 

Singly,  each  would  have  attracted  attention  any- 
where ;  together  they  were  doubly  striking-looking. 
Arnold,  tall  and  slight,  carrying  his  head  high,  fair  of 
complexion  as  a  peachy-cheeked  girl,  was  a  peculiarly 
distinguished-looking  man.  The  delicate//»^-«^a  he 
wore  emphasized  slightly  the  elusive  air  of  supercilious 
courtliness  he  always  conveyed.  Now,  as  he  spoke 
to  Ruth,  who,  although  a  tall  girl,  was  some  inches 
shorter  than  he,  he  maintained  a  strict  perpendic- 
ular from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  his  heels,  only 
looking  down  with  his  eyes.  Short  women  resented 
this  trick  of  his,  protesting  that  it  made  them  stand 
on  tiptoe  to  speak  to  him. 

There  was  something  almost  Oriental  about  Ruth, 
with  her  creamy,  colorless  face,  like  a  magnolia 
blossom ;  her  dusky  hair  was  loosely  rolled  from  her 
forehead  and  temples ;  her  eyes  were  soft  and  brown 
beneath  delicately  pencilled  brows,  and  matched  the 
pure  oval  of  her  face.  But  the  languorous  air  of 
Southern  skies  was  wholly  wanting  in  the  sweet 
sympathy  of  her  glance,  and  in  a  certain  alertness 
about  the  poise  of  her  head. 

Arnold  stopped  perforce  at  Miss  Gwynne's  slight 
signal. 

"Where  are  you  hastening?"  she  asked  as  they 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  21 

turned  to  greet  her.  "  One  would  think  you  saw 
your  Nemesis  before  you,  so  oblivious  were  you  to 
the  beauties  scattered  about."  She  looked  up  pertly 
at  Arnold,  after  giving  one  comprehensive  glance 
over  Ruth's  toilet. 

"  We  both  wished  to  see  the  orchids  of  which  one 
hears,"  he  answered,  with  pronounced  French  accent 
and  idiom  ;  adding,  with  a  slight  smile,  "  I  did  not 
overlook  you,  but  you  were  so  busily  contemplat- 
ing other  ground  that  it  would  have  been  cruelty  to 
disturb  you."  He  spoke  the  language  slowly,  as  a 
stranger  upon  foreign  ground. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  forgot.  Dr.  Kemp,  are  you  acquainted 
with  the  Queen  of  Sheba  and  her  doughty  knight 
Louis,  surnamed  Arnold?  "  She  paused  a  moment  as 
the  parties  acknowledged  the  curious  introduction, 
and  then  broke  in  rather  breathlessly  :  "  There, 
Doctor,  I  shall  leave  you  with  royalty;  do  not  let 
your  republican  ignorance  forget  her  proper  title. 
Mr.  Arnold,  Mrs.  Merrill  is  beckoning  to  us  ;  will  you 
come?"  and  with  a  naive,  superbly  impish  look  at 
Ruth,  she  drew  Arnold  away  before  he  could  murmur 
an  excuse. 

At  the  impertinent  words  the  soft,  rich  blood 
suffused  Ruth's  face. 

"  Will  you  sit  here  awhile  and  wait  for  Mr.  Arnold, 
or  shall  we  go  and  see  the  orchids?  "  The  pleasant, 
deep  voice  broke  in  upon  her  confusion  and  calmed 
her  self-consciousness.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
dark,  clever  face  above  her  ;  it  was  a  strong,  rather 
than  a  handsome  face.  From  the  broad  sweep  of 
the  forehead  above  the  steady  scrutiny  of  the  gray 
eyes,  to  the  grave  lip  and  firm  chin  under  the  dark, 


OF 

I 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

pointed  beard,  strength  and  gentleness  spoke  in  every 
line.  His  personality  bore  the  stamp  of  a  letter  of 
credit. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she  ;  "  I  think  I  shall  sit  here. 
My  cousin  will  probably  be  back  soon." 

The  doctor  seated  himself  beside  her.  Miss 
Gwynne's  appellation  was  not  inaptly  chosen,  still 
he  would  have  preferred  to  know  her  more  conven- 
tional title. 

"  This  is  a  peaceful  little  comer,"  he  said.  "  Do 
you  notice  how  removed  it  seems  from  the  rest  of 
the  room?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  meeting  and  disconcerting 
his  pleasantly  questioning  look  with  one  of  swift 
resolve.  "Dr.  Kemp,  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  my 
father  has  confided  to  me  your  joint  secret." 

"  Your  father  ?"  he  looked  bewildered ;  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  Queen  of  Sheba's  progenitors  was  vague. 

"  My  father,  yes,"  she  repeated,  smiling  at  his 
perplexity.  "  Our  name  is  not  very  common ;  I  am 
Jules  Levice's  daughter." 

He  was  about  to  exclaim  "  No  !  "  The  kinship 
seemed  ridiculous  in  the  face  of  this  lovely  girl  and 
the  remembered  picture  of  the  little  plain-faced  Jew. 
What  he  did  say  was,  — 

"  Mr.  Levice  is  an  esteemed  friend  of  mine.  He 
is  present,  is  he  not?" 

"  Yes.     Have  you  met  my  mother  yet?  " 

The  mother  would  probably  unravel  the  mysterious 
origin  of  this  beautiful  face  and  this  strange,  sweet 
voice,  whose  subdued  tones  held  an  uncommon 
charm. 

"  No  \    but   your   father  is    diplomat    enough   to 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2$ 

manage  that  before  the  evening  is  over.  So  you 
know  our  little  scheme.  Pardon  the  *  shop  '  which  I 
have  of  a  necessity  brought  with  me  this  evening,  but 
have  you  seen  any  signs  of  illness  in  your  mother?  " 

"No;  I  have  been  very  blind  and  selfish,"  she 
replied,  somewhat  bitterly,  "for  every  one  but  me 
seems  to  have  seen  that  something  was  wrong.  She 
has  been  very  anxious  to  give  me  pleasure,  and  I  fear 
has  been  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends  for  my 
light.  I  wish  I  had  known  —  probably  it  lay  just 
within  my  hand  to  prevent  this,  instead  of  leading  her 
on  by  my  often  expressed  delight.  What  I  wish  to 
ask  you  is  that  if  you  find  anything  serious,  you  will 
tell  me,  and  allay  my  father's  fears  as  much  as 
possible.  Please  do  this  for  me.  My  father  is  not 
young ;  and  I,  I  think,  am  trustworthy." 

She  had  spoken  rapidly,  but  with  convincing  sin- 
cerity, looking  her  companion  full  in  the  face. 

The  doctor  quietly  scrutinized  the  earnest  young 
face  before  he  answered.  Then  he  slightly  bowed  in 
acquiescence. 

"  That  is  a  pact,"  he  said  lightly ;  "but  in  all  prob- 
ability your  father's  fears  are  exaggerated." 

" « Where  love  is  great,  the  smallest  doubts  are 
fears,'  "  she  quoted,  softly  flushing.  The  doctor  had 
a  singular  impersonal  habit  of  keeping  his  eyes 
intently  bent  upon  the  person  with  whom  he  con- 
versed, that  made  his  companion  feel  that  they  two 
were  exclusively  alone,  —  a  sensation  that  was  slightly 
bewildering  upon  first  acquaintance.  By  and  by  one 
understood  that  it  was  merely  his  air  of  interest  that 
evoked  the  feeling,  and  so  gradually  got  used  to  it  as 
to  one  of  his  features. 


24  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"That  is  so,"  he  replied  cheerily;  "  and — I  see 
some  one  is  about  to  play.  Mrs.  Merrill  told  me  we 
should  have  some  music." 

"  It  is  Louis,  I  think ;  I  know  his  touch." 

"Your  cousin?     He  plays?" 

Ruth  looked  at  him  in  questioning  wonder.  Truth 
to  say,  the  doctor  could  not  but  betray  his  surprise  at 
the  idea  of  the  cold-looking  Arnold  in  the  light  of  a 
musician;  his  doubts  took  instant  flight  after  the 
opening  chords.  Rubenstein's  Melody  in  F,  played 
by  a  master-hand,  is  one  long  sound  of  divine  ecstasy 
thrilling  the  listener  to  exquisite  rapture.  Played  by 
Louis  Arnold,  what  the  composer  had  conceived  in 
his  soul  was  magnificently  interpreted.  As  he  fin- 
ished, there  was  not  a  murmur ;  and  the  next  minute 
he  had  dashed  into  a  quaint  tarantelle  that  instantly 
dispelled  the  former  spell  of  grandeur. 

"  An  artist,"  said  some  one  standing  near. 

"  Something  more,"  murmured  Kemp,  rising  as  he 
saw  Ruth  do  so.  He  was  about  to  offer  her  his  arm 
when  Mrs.  Merrill,  a  gentle-faced  woman,  stepped  up 
to  them,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  Ruth's  shoulder, 
said  rather  hurriedly,  — 

"I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Doctor,  but  Mrs. 
Levice  —  do  not  be  alarmed,  Ruth  dear  —  has  be- 
come somewhat  hysterical,  and  we  cannot  calm  her ; 
will  you  come  this  way,  please,  and  no  one  need 
know  she  is  in  the  study." 

"  My  family  is  making  itself  prominent  to-night," 
said  Ruth,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  as  they 
turned  with  Mrs.  Merrill  through  the  conservatory 
and  so  across  the  hall. 

"  I  shall  be  here,  Doctor,  if  you  wish  anything," 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2$ 

said  Mrs.  Merrill,  standing  without  as  he  and  Ruth 
entered  and  immediately  shut  the  door  after  them. 

"  Stay  there,"  he  said  with  quiet  authority  to  Ruth, 
and  she  stood  quite  still  where  he  left  her.  Mrs. 
Levice  was  seated  in  a  large  easy-chair  with  her  back 
to  the  door ;  her  husband  had  drawn  her  head  to  his 
bosom.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room,  and  for 
a  second  not  a  sound,  till  Mrs.  Levice  began  to  sob 
in  a  frightened  manner. 

"  It 's  nothing  at  all,  Jules,"  she  cried,  trying  to 
laugh  and  failing  lamentably ;  "I  —  I'm  only  silly." 

"  There,  dear,  don't  talk."  Levice's  face  was 
white  as  he  soothingly  stroked  her  hair. 

"  Oh  ! " 

The  doctor  stepped  in  front  of  them,  and  lay- 
ing both  hands  upon  her  shoulders,  motioned  Levice 
aside. 

"  Hush  !     Not  a  word  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  stern,  brusque  voice,  the  long 
quivering  shriek  stopped  halfway. 

"Be  perfectly  still,"  he  continued,  holding  her 
firmly.  "  Obey  this  instant,"  as  she  began  to  whim- 
per ;  "  not  a  sound  must  I  hear." 

Ruth  and  her  father  stood  spell-bound  at  the  effect 
of  the  stranger's  measures.  For  a  moment  Mrs. 
Levice  had  started  in  affright  to  scream ;  but  the 
deep,  commanding  tone,  the  powerful  hands  upon  her 
shoulders,  the  impressive,  unswerving  eye  that  held 
hers,  soon  began  to  act  almost  hypnotically.  The 
sobbing  gradually  ceased ;  the  shaking  limbs  slowly 
regained  their  calm ;  and  as  she  sank  upon  the  cush- 
ions the  strained  look  in  her  eyes  melted.  She  was 
feebly  smiling  up  at  the  doctor  in  response  to  his 


26  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

own  persuasive  smile  that  gradually  succeeded  the 
gravity  of  his  countenance. 

"  That  is  well,"  said  he,  speaking  soothingly  as  to 
a  child,  and  still  keeping  his  smiling  eyes  upon  hers. 
"  Now  just  close  your  eyes  for  a  minute  ;  see,  I  have 
your  hand,  —  so.  Go  to  sleep." 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  room ;  Ruth  stood 
where  she  had  been  placed,  and  Mr.  Levice  was  be- 
hind the  doctor,  his  face  quite  colorless,  scarcely 
daring  to  breathe.  Finally  the  faint,  even  breathing 
of  Mrs.  Levice  told  that  she  slept. 

Kemp  turned  to  Mr.  Levice  and  spoke  low,  not  in 
a  whisper,  which  hisses,  but  his  voice  was  so  hushed 
that  it  would  not  have  disturbed  the  lightest  sleeper. 

"  Put  your  hand,  palm  up,  under  hers.  I  am  go- 
ing to  withdraw  my  hand  and  retire,  as  I  do  not  wish 
to  excite  her;  she  will  probably  open  her  eyes  in 
a  few  moments.  Take  her  home  as  quietly  as 
you  can." 

"  You  will  call  to-morrow?  "  whispered  Levice. 

He  quietly  assented. 

"  Now  be  deft."  The  transfer  was  quickly  made, 
and  nodding  cheerfully,  Dr.  Kemp  left  the  room. 

Ruth  came  forward.  Five  minutes  later  Mrs. 
Levice  opened  her  eyes. 

"Why,  what  has  happened?  "  she  asked  languidly. 

"You  fell  asleep,  Esther,"  replied  her  husband, 
gently. 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  why  is  Ruth  in  that  gown  ? 
Oh  —  ye-es  !  "  Consciousness  was  returning  to  her. 
"  And  who  was  that  handsome  man  who  was 
here?" 

"A  friend  of  Ruth." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL,  2J 

"  He  is  very  strong,"  she  observed  pensively.  She 
lay  back  in  her  chair  for  a  few  minutes  as  if  dreaming. 
Suddenly  she  started  up. 

"  What  thoughtless  people  we  are  !  Let  us  go 
back  to  the  drawing-room,  or  they  will  think  some- 
thing dreadful  has  happened." 

"  No,  Mamma ;  I  do  not  feel  at  all  like  going  back. 
Stay  here  with  Father  while  I  get  our  wraps." 

Before  Mrs.  Levice  could  demur,  Ruth  had  left 
the  room.  As  she  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
stairs,  she  was  rather  startled  by  a  hand  laid  upon 
her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  you,  Louis  !     I  am  going  for  our  wraps." 

"  Here  they  are.     How  is  my  aunt?  " 

"  She  is  quite  herself  again.  Thanks  for  the  wraps. 
Will  you  call  up  the  carriage,  Louis?  We  shall  go 
immediately,  but  do  not  think  of  coming  yourself." 

"  Nonsense  !  Tell  your  mother  you  have  made 
your  adieux  to  Mrs.  Merrill,  —  she  understands ;  the 
carriage  is  waiting." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Levices  and  Louis  Arnold 
quietly  stole  away.  Mrs.  Levice  had  had  an  attack 
of  hysteria.  "  Nothing  at  all,"  the  world  said,  and 
dismissed  it  as  carelessly  as  most  of  the  quiet  turn- 
ing-points in  a  life-history  are  dismissed. 


28  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  Levices'  house  stood  well  back  upon  its 
grounds,  almost  with  an  air  of  reserve  in  com- 
parison with  the  rows  of  stately,  bay- windowed  houses 
that  faced  it  and  hedged  it  in  on  both  sides.  But 
the  broad,  sweeping  lawns,  the  confusion  of  exquisite 
roses  and  heliotropes,  the  open  path  to  the  veranda, 
whereon  stood  an  hospitable  garden  settee  and  chair, 
the  long  French  windows  open  this  summer's  morning 
to  sun  and  air,  told  an  inviting  tale. 

As  Dr.  Kemp  ascended  the  few  steps  leading  to  the 
front  door,  he  looked  around  approvingly. 

"  Not  a  bad  berth  for  the  grave  little  bookworm," 
he  mused  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

It  was  immediately  answered  by  the  "  grave  little 
bookworm  "  in  person. 

"  I  Ve  been  on  the  lookout  for  you  for  the 
past  hour,"  he  explained,  leading  him  into  the 
library  and  turning  the  key  of  the  door  as  they 
entered. 

It  was  a  cosey  room,  not  small  or  low,  as  the  word 
would  suggest,  but  large  and  airy;  the  cosiness  was 
supplied  by  comfortable  easy-chairs,  a  lounge  or  two, 
a  woman's  low  rocker,  an  open  piano,  a  few  soft 
engravings  on  the  walls,  and  books  in  cases,  books 
on  tables,  books  on  stands,  books  everywhere.  Two 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2Q 

long  lace-draped  windows  let  in  a  flood  of  searching 
sunlight  that  brought  to  light  not  an  atom  of  dust  in 
the  remotest  corner.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  every 
respectable  Jewess  to  keep  her  house  as  clean  as  if  at 
any  moment  a  search-warrant  for  dirt  might  be 
served  upon  her. 

"Will  you  not  be  seated?  "  asked  Levice,  looking 
up  at  Kemp  as  the  latter  stood  drawing  off  his 
gloves. 

"  Is  your  wife  coming  down  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  is  in  her  room  yet." 

"Then  let  us  go  up  immediately.  I  am  not  at 
leisure." 

"  I  know.  Still  I  wish  to  ask  you  to  treat  what- 
ever ailments  you  may  find  as  lightly  as  possible  in 
her  presence ;  she  has  never  known  anxiety  or  worry 
of  any  kind.  It  will  be  necessary  to  tell  only  me,  and 
every  precaution  will  be  taken." 

Here  was  a  second  one  of  this  family  of  three 
wishing  to  take  the  brunt  of  the  trouble  on  his 
shoulders,  and  the  third  had  been  bearing  it  secretly 
for  some  time.  Probably  a  very  united  family,  lov- 
ing and  unselfish  doubtless,  but  the  doctor  had  to 
stifle  an  amused  smile  in  the  face  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman's dignified  appeal. 

"  Still  she  is  not  a  child,  J  suppose ;  she  knows  of 
the  nature  of  my  visit?  "  He  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  Ruth  —  my  daughter,  you  know  —  was  about  to 
tell  her  as  I  left  the  room." 

"  Then  we  will  go  up  directly." 

Levice  preceded  him  up  the  broad  staircase.  As 
they  reached  the  landing,  he  turned  to  the  doctor. 

"  Pardon  my  care,  but  I  must  make  sure  that  Ruth 


3O  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

has  told  her.  Just  step  into  the  sitting-room  a 
second,"  and  the  precautions  husband  went  forward 
to  his  wife's  bedroom,  leaving  the  door  open. 

Standing  thus  in  the  hallway,  Kemp  could  plainly 
hear  the  following  words  :  — 

"  And  being  interested  in  nervous  diseases,"  the 
peculiarly  low  voice  was  saying,  "  he  told  Father  he 
would  call  and  see  you,  —  out  of  professional  curios- 
ity, you  know ;  besides  we  should  not  like  you  to  be 
often  taken  as  you  were  last  night,  should  we?" 

"People  with  plenty  of  time  on  their  hands," 
soliloquized  the  doctor,  looking  at  his  watch  in  the 
hallway. 

"  What  is  his  name,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Dr.  Herbert  Kemp." 

"  What !  Don't  you  know  that  Dr.  Kemp  is  one 
of  the  first  physicians  in  the  city  ?  Every  one  knows 
he  has  no  time  for  curiosity.  Nervous  diseases  are 
his  specialty;  and  do  you  think  he  would  come 
without  —  " 

"  Being  asked?  "  interrupted  a  pleasant  voice  ;  the 
doctor  had  remembered  the  flight  of  time,  and  walked 
in  unannounced. 

"  Keep  your  seat,"  he  continued,  as  Mrs.  Levice 
started  up,  the  excited  blood  springing  to  her 
cheeks. 

"You  hardly  need  an  introduction,  Esther," 
said  Levice.  "  You  remember  Dr.  Kemp  from  last 
night?" 

"  Yes.  Don't  go,  Ruth,  please  ;  Jules,  had  n't  you 
something  to  do  downstairs?  " 

Did  she  imagine  for  a  moment  that  she  could  still 
conceal  her  trouble  from  his  tender  watchfulness? 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  31 

Great  dark  rings  encircled  her  now  feverishly  bright 
eyes ;  her  mouth  trembled  visibly ;  and  as  Ruth  drew 
aside,  her  mother's  shaking  fingers  held  tight  to  her 
hand. 

"I  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  do,"  replied 
Levice,  heartily ;  "  I  am  going  to  sit  right  here  and  get 
interested." 

"  You  will  have  to  submit  to  a  friendly  cross- 
examination,  Mrs.  Levice,"  said  the  physician. 

He  drew  a  chair  up  before  her  and  took  both  her 
hands  in  his.  As  Ruth  relinquished  her  hold,  she 
encountered  a  pair  of  pleasantly  authoritative  gray 
eyes,  and  instantly  divining  their  expression,  left  the 
room. 

She  descended  a  few  steps  to  the  windowed  land- 
ing. Here  she  intended  joining  the  doctor  on  his 
way  down.  Probably  her  father  would  follow  him ; 
but  it  was  her  intention  to  intercept  any  such  plan. 
A  fog  had  arisen,  and  the  struggling  rosy  beams  of 
the  sun  glimmered  opalescently  through  the  density. 
Ruth  thought  it  would  be  clear  by  noon,  when  she 
and  her  mother  could  go  for  a  stirring  tramp.  She 
stood  lost  in  thought  till  a  firm  footfall  on  the  stairs 
aroused  her. 

"  I  see  Miss  Levice  here ;  don't  come  down,"  Kemp 
was  saying.  "  What  further  directions  I  have  must  be 
given  to  a  woman." 

"  Stay  with  Mamma,  Father,"  called  Ruth,  looking 
up  at  her  hesitating  father ;  "  I  shall  see  the  doctor 
out ;  "  and  she  quickly  ran  down  the  few  remaining 
steps  to  Kemp,  awaiting  her  at  the  foot.  She  opened 
the  door  of  the  library,  and  closing  it  quickly  behind 
them,  turned  to  him  expectantly. 


32  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Nothing  to  be  alarmed  at,"  he  said,  answering 
her  mute  inquiry.  He  seated  himself  at  the  table, 
and  drew  from  his  vest-pocket  pencil  and  blank. 
Without  another  glance  at  the  girl,  he  wrote  rapidly 
for  some  minutes;  then  quickly  moving  back  his 
chair,  he  arose  and  handed  her  the  two  slips  of 
paper. 

"The  first  is?a  tonic  which  you  will  have  made  up," 
he  explained,  picking  up  his  gloves  and  hat  and 
moving  toward  the  door ;  "  the  other  is  a  diet  which 
you  are  to  observe.  As  I  told  her  just  now,  she  must 
remain  in  bed  and  see  no  one  but  her  immediate 
family;  you  must  see  that  she  hears  and  reads 
nothing  exciting.  That  is  all,  I  think." 

Indignation  and  alarm  held  riot  in  Ruth's  face  and 
arrested  the  doctor's  departure. 

"  Dr.  Kemp,"  she  said,  "  you  force  me  to  remind 
you  of  a  promise  you  made  me  last  night.  Will  you  at 
least  tell  me  what  ails  my  mother  that  you  use  such 
strenuous  measures?" 

A  flash  of  recollection  came  to  the  doctor's  eyes. 

"Why,  this  is  an  unpardonable  breach  upon  my 
part,  Miss  Levice ;  but  I  will  tell  you  all  the  trouble. 
Your  mother  is  suffering  with  a  certain  form  of 
hysteria  to  a  degree  that  would  have  prostrated  her 
had  we  not  come  forward  in  time.  As  it  is,  by  pros- 
trating her  ourselves  for  awhile,  say  a  month  or  so, 
she  will  regain  her  equilibrium.  You  have  heard  of 
the  food  and  rest  cure?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  that  is  what  she  will  undergo  mildly.  Has 
she  any  duties  that  will  suffer  by  her  neglect  or  that 
will  intrude  upon  her  equanimity?" 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL,  33 

"  No  necessary  ones  but  those  of  the  house.  Un- 
der no  circumstances  can  I  conceive  of  her  giving  up 
their  supervision." 

"Yet  she  must  do  so  under  the  present  state  of 
affairs.  Remember,  her  mind  must  be  kept  unoccu- 
pied, but  time  must  be  made  to  pass  pleasantly  for 
her.  This  is  not  an  easy  task,  Miss  Levice ;  but, 
according  to  my  promise,  I  have  left  you  to  under- 
take it." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  responded  quietly. 

Kemp  looked  at  her  with  a  sense  of  calm 
satisfaction. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand 
with  a  smile. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Ruth  felt  as  if  a 
burden  had  fallen  from,  instead  of  upon  her.  For 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  her  apprehensions  had  been 
excessive.  Now,  though  she  knew  positively  that  her 
mother's  condition  needed  instant  and  constant  care, 
which  she  must  herself  assume,  all  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility fell  from  her.  The  few  quiet  words  of 
this  strange  physician  had  made  her  trust  his  strength 
as  she  would  a  rock.  She  could  not  have  explained 
why  it  was  so ;  but  as  her  father  remarked  once,  she 
might  have  said,  "  I  trust  him  implicitly,  because, 
though  a  man  of  superiority,  he  implicitly  trusts 
himself." 

As  she  re-entered  her  mother's  room,  her  father 
regarded  her  intently. 

"  So  we  are  going  to  make  a  baby  of  you,  Mamma," 
she  cried  playfully,  coming  forward  and  folding  her 
arms  around  her  mother,  who  lay  on  the  lounge. 

"  So  he  says ;    and  what  he  says  one  cannot  re- 
3 


34  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

sist."  There  was  an  apathetic  ring  to  her  mother's 
voice  that  surprised  her.  Quickly  the  thought  flashed 
through  her  that  she  was  too  weary  to  resist  now  that 
she  was  found  out. 

"  Then  we  won't  try  to,"  Ruth  decided,  seating 
herself  on  the  edge  of  the  lounge  close  to  her  mother. 
From  his  armchair,  Mr.  Levice  noted  with  remorse- 
ful pride  the  almost  matronly  poise  and  expression  of 
his  lovely  young  daughter  as  she  bent  over  her  weary- 
looking  mother  and  smoothed  her  hair. 

"  And  if  you  are  to  be  baby,"  she  continued, 
smiling  down,  "  I  shall  have  to  change  places  with 
you,  and  become  mother.  You  will  see  what  a  capital 
one  I  shall  make.  Let's  see,  what  are  the  duties? 
First,  baby  must  be  kept  clean  and  sweet,  —  I  am  an 
artist  at  that ;  secondly,  Father  and  the  rest  of  us 
must  have  a  perfectly  appointed  menage  ;  third  —  " 

"I  do  not  doubt  that  you  will  make  a  perfect 
mother,  my  child ; "  the  gentle  meaning  of  her 
father's  words  and  glance  caused  Ruth  to  flush  with 
pleasure.  When  Levice  said,  "  My  child,"  the  words 
were  a  caress.  "Just  believe  in  her,  Esther;  one 
of  her  earliest  lessons  was  '  Whatever  you  do,  do 
thoroughly.'  She  had  to  learn  it  through  experience. 
But  as  you  trust  me,  trust  my  pupil." 

The  soft  smile  that  played  upon  her  husband's  face 
was  reflected  on  Mrs.  Levice's. 

"  Oh,  Ruth,"  she  murmured  tremulously,  "  it  will  be 
so  hard  for  you." 

This  was  a  virtual  laying  down  of  arms,  and  Ruth 
was  satisfied. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  3$ 


CHAPTER   IV. 

LOUIS  ARNOLD,  the  only  other  member  of  the 
Levice  family,  had  been  forced  to  leave  town  on 
some  business  the  morning  after  Mrs.  Levice's  attack 
at  the  Merrill  reception.  He  was,  therefore,  much 
surprised  and  shocked  on  his  return  a  week  later  at 
rinding  his  aunt  in  bed  and  such  rigorous  measures 
for  quiet  in  vogue. 

Arnold  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  house  for  the 
past  twelve  years.  He  was  a  direct  importation 
from  France,  which  he  had  left  just  before  attaining 
his  majority,  the  glory  of  soldier- life  not  proving 
seductive  to  his  imagination.  He  had  no  sooner 
taken  up  his  abode  with  his  uncle  than  he  was  re- 
garded as  the  most  useful  and  ornamental  piece  of 
foreign  vertu  in  the  beautiful  house. 

Being  a  business  man  by  nature,  keen,  wary,  and 
indefatigable,  he  was  soon  able  to  take  almost  the 
entire  charge  of  Levice's  affairs.  In  a  few  years  his 
uncle  ceased  to  question  his  business  capabilities. 
From  the  time  he  arrived,  he  naturally  fell  into  the 
position  of  his  aunt's  escort,  thus  again  relieving 
Levice,  who  preferred  the  quieter  life. 

When  Ruth  began  to  go  into  society,  his  pres- 
ence was  almost  a  necessity,  as  Jewish  etiquette,  or 
rather  Jewish  espionage,  forbids  a  young  man  un- 


36  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

attached  by  blood  or  intentions  to  appear  as  the 
attendant  of  a  single  woman.  This  is  one  of  the 
ways  Jewish  heads  of  families  have  got  into  for  keep- 
ing the  young  people  apart,  —  making  cowards  of  the 
young  men,  and  depriving  the  young  girls  of  a  great 
deal  of  innocent  pleasure. 

Arnold,  however,  was  not  an  escort  to  be  despised, 
as  Ruth  soon  discovered.  She  very  quickly  felt  a 
sort  of  family  pride  in  his  cool,  quizzical  manner  and 
caustic  repartee,  that  was  wholly  distinct  from  the 
more  girlish  admiration  of  his  distinguished  person. 
He  and  Ruth  were  great  friends  in  a  quiet,  unspoken 
way. 

They  were  sitting  together  alone  in  the  library  on 
the  evening  of  his  return.  Mrs.  Levice  had  fallen 
asleep,  and  her  husband  was  sitting  with  her.  Ruth 
had  stolen  down  to  keep  Louis  company,  fearing  he 
would  feel  lonesome  in  the  changed  aspect  of  the 
house. 

Arnold  lay  at  full  length  on  the  lounge ;  Ruth 
swayed  backward  and  forward  in  the  rocker. 

"What  I  am  surprised  at,"  he  was  saying,  "  is  that 
my  aunt  submits  to  this  confining  treatment;"  he 
pronounced  the  last  word  "  tritment,"  but  he  never 
stopped  at  a  word  because  of  its  pronunciation,  thus 
adding  a  certain  piquancy  to  his  speech. 

"You  would  not  be  surprised  if  you  knew  Dr. 
Kemp  ;  one  follows  his  directions  blindly." 

"  So  I  have  heard  from  a  great  many  —  women." 

"And  not  men?" 

"I  have  never  happened  to  hold  a  conversation 
with  a  man  on  the  powers  of  Dr.  Kemp.  Women 
delight  in  such  things." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  37 

"What  things?" 

"  Why,  giving  in  to  the  magnetic  power  of  a  strong 
man." 

"  You  err  slightly,  Louis ;  it  is  the  power,  not  the 
giving  in  that  we  delight  in,  counting  it  a  necessary 
part  of  manliness." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  differ  with  you  ?  Besides, 
apart  from  this  great  first  cause,  I  do  not  understand 
how,  after  a  week  of  it,  she  has  not  rebelled." 

"  I  think  I  can  answer  that  satisfactorily,"  replied 
his  cousin,  a  mischievous  smile  parting  her  lips  and 
showing  a  row  of  strong  white  teeth ;  "  she  is  in 
love." 

"Also?" 

"  With  Father ;  and  so  does  as  she  knows  will 
please  him  best.  Love  is  also  something  every  one 
loves  to  give  in  to." 

"  Every  one  who  loves,  you  mean." 

"  Every  one  loves  something  or  some  one." 

"  Behold  the  exception,  therefore."  He  moved 
his  head  so  as  to  get  a  better  view  of  her. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you." 

"That —  is  rude."  He  kept  his  eyes  meditatively 
fixed  upon  her. 

"  Have  you  made  a  discovery  in  my  face  ? " 
asked  the  girl  presently,  slightly  moving  from  his 
gaze. 

"  No,"  he  replied  calmly.  "  My  discovery  was  made 
some  time  ago  ;  I  am  merely  going  over  beautiful  and 
pleasant  ground." 

"Really?"  she  returned,  flushing,  "then  please 
look  away ;  you  annoy  me." 

"  Why   should  I,   since  you   know  it   is  done  in 


38  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

admiration  ?  You  are  a  woman ;  do  not  pretend 
distaste  for  it." 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  upstairs  if  you  persist  in 
talking  so  disagreeably." 

"  Indulge  me  a  little ;  I  feel  like  talking,  and  I 
promise  not  to  be  disagreeable.  Always  wear  white ; 
it  becomes  you.  Never  forget  that  beauty  needs 
appropriate  surroundings.  Another  thing,  ma  belle 
cousine,  this  little  trick  you  have  of  blushing  on  the 
slightest  provocation  spoils  your  whole  appearance. 
Your  complexion  should  always  retain  its  healthy 
whiteness,  while  —  " 

"  You  have  been  indulged  quite  sufficiently,  Louis. 
Do  you  know,  if  you  often  spoke  to  me  in  this 
manner  I  should  soon  hate  you?" 

"  That  would  indeed  be  unfortunate.  Never  hate, 
Ruth  ;  besides  making  enemies,  hate  is  an  arch  enemy 
to  the  face,  distorting  the  softest  and  loveliest." 

"  We  cannot  love  people  who  calmly  sit  and  irritate 
us  like  mocking  tarantulas." 

"  That  is  exaggerated,  I  think.  Besides,  Heaven 
forbid  our  loving  everybody  !  Never  love,  Ruth ;  let 
liking  be  strong  enough  for  you.  Love  only  wears 
out  the  body  and  narrows  the  mind,  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. Cupid,  you  know,  died  young,  or  wasted  to 
plainness,  for  he  never  had  his  portrait  taken  after  he 
matured." 

"  A  character  such  as  you  would  have  would  be 
unbearable." 

"But  sensible  and  wise." 

"  Happily  our  hearts  need  no  teaching ;  they  love 
and  hate  instinctively  before  the  brain  can  speak." 

"Good  — for  some.    But   in  me  behold  the  anom- 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  39 

aly  whose  brain  always  reconnoitres  the  field  before- 
hand, and  has  never  yet  considered  it  worth  while  to 
signal  either  '  love  '  or  '  hate.'  " 

He  rose  with  a  smile  and  sauntered  over  to  the 
piano.  The  unbecoming  blush  mounted  slowly 
to  Ruth's  face  and  her  eyes  were  bright  as  she 
watched  him.  When  his  hands  touched  the  keys,  she 
spoke. 

"  No  doubt  you  think  it  adds  to  your  intellect  to 
pretend  independence  of  all  emotion.  But,  do  you 
know,  I  think  feeling,  instead  of  being  a  weakness, 
is  often  more  clever  than  wisdom?  At  any  rate, 
what  you  are  doing  now  is  proof  sufficient  that  you 
feel,  and  perhaps  more  strongly  than  many." 

He  partly  turned  on  the  music-chair,  and  regarded 
her  questioningly,  never,  however,  lifting  his  hands 
from  the  keys  as  he  played  a  softly  passionate  minor 
strain. 

«  What  am  I  doing?  "  he  asked. 

"  Making  love  to  the  piano." 

"  It  does  not  hurt  the  piano,  does  it?" 

"  No  ;  but  never  say  you  do  not  feel  when  you  play 
like  that." 

"  Is  not  that  rather  peremptory?  Who  taught  you 
to  read  character?  " 

"You." 

"  I  ?  What  a  poor  teacher  I  was  to  allow  you  to 
show  such  bungling  work  !  Will  you  sing?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  read ;  I  have  had  quite  enough  of 
myself  and  of  you  for  one  night." 

"Alas,  poor  me!"  he  retorted  mockingly,  and 
seeming  to  accompany  his  words  with  his  music ;  "  I 
am  sorry  for  you,  my  child,  that  your  emotions  are- 


40  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

so  troublesome.  You  have  but  made  your  entrance 
into  the  coldest,  most  exciting  arena,  - —  the  world. 
Remember  what  I  tell  you,  —  all  the  strong  mo- 
tives, love  and  hate  and  jealousy,  are  mere  flot- 
sam and  jetsam.  You  are  the  only  loser  by  their 
possession." 

The  quiet  closing  of  the  door  was  his  only  answer. 
Ruth  had  left  the  room. 

She  knew  Arnold  too  well  to  be  affected  by  his 
little  splurt  of  cynicism.  If  she  could  escape  a  cynic 
either  in  books  or  in  society,  she  invariably  did  so. 
Life  was  still  beautiful  for  her ;  and  one  of  her  father's 
untaught  lessons  was  that  the  cynic  is  a  one-sided 
creature,  having  lost  the  eye  that  sees  the  compensa- 
tion balancing  all  things.  As  long  as  Louis  attacked 
things,  it  did  no  harm,  except  to  incite  a  friendly 
passage-at-arms ;  hence,  most  of  such  talk  passed  in 
the  speaking.  Not  so  the  disparaging  insinuations 
he  had  cast  at  Dr.  Kemp. 

During  the  week  in  which  Ruth  had  established 
herself  as  nurse-in-chief  to  her  mother  she  had  seen 
him  almost  daily.  Time  in  a  quiet  sick-room  passes 
monotonously ;  events  that  are  unnoticed  in  hours  of 
well-being  and  activity  here  assume  proportions  of 
importance ;  meal-times  are  looked  forward  to  as  a 
break  in  the  day ;  the  doctor's  visit,  especially  when 
it  is  the  only  one  allowed,  is  an  excitement.  Dr. 
Kemp's  visits  were  short,  but  the  two  learned  to  look 
for  his  coming  and  the  sound  of  his  deep,  cheery 
voice,  as  to  their  morning's  tonic  that  would  strengthen 
the  whole  day.  Naturally,  as  he  was  a  stranger,  Mrs. 
Levice  in  her  idleness  had  analyzed  and  discussed 
aloud  his  qualities,  both  personal  and  professional, 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  41 

to  her  satisfaction.  She  had  small  ground  for  basing 
her  judgments,  but  the  doctor  formed  a  good  part 
of  her  conversation. 

Ruth's  knowledge  of  him  was  somewhat  larger,  — 
about  the  distance  between  Mrs.  Levice's  bedroom 
and  the  front  door.  She  had  a  homely  little  way  of 
seeing  people  to  the  door,  and  here  it  was  the  doctor 
gave  her  any  new  instructions.  Instructions  are  soon 
given  and  taken;  and  there  was  always  time  for  a 
word  or  two  of  a  different  nature. 

In  the  first  place,  she  had  been  attracted  by  his 
horses,  a  magnificent  pair  of  jetty  blacks. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  would  despise  a  lump  of  sugar," 
she  said  one  morning. 

"Why  should  they?  "  asked  Kemp. 

"  Oh,  they  seem  to  hold  their  heads  so  haughtily." 

"  Still,  they  are  human  enough  to  know  sweets 
when  they  see  them,"  their  owner  replied,  taking  in 
the  beautiful  figure  of  the  young  girl  in  her  quaint, 
flowered  morning-gown.  "  Try  them  once,  and  you 
won't  doubt  it." 

She  did  try  them ;  and  as  she  turned  a  slightly 
flushed  face  to  Kemp,  who  stood  beside  her,  he  held 
out  his  hand,  saying  almost  boyishly,  "  Let  me  thank 
you  and  shake  hands  for  my  horses." 

One  can  become  eloquent,  witty,  or  tender  over 
the  weather.  The  doctor  became  neither  of  these ; 
but  Ruth,  whose  spirits  were  mercurially  affected  by 
the  atmosphere,  always  viewed  the  elements  with  the 
eye  of  a  private  signal -service  reporter. 

"  This  is  the  time  for  a  tramp,"  she  said,  as  they 
stood  on  the  veranda,  and  the  summer  air,  laden  with 
the  perfume  of  heliotrope,  stole  around  them.  "  That 

^  OP  THE 

'Tnri7SESITYFi 


42  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

is  where  the  laboring  man  has  the  advantage  over 
you,  Dr.  Kemp." 

"Which,  ten  to  one,  he  finds  a  disadvantage.  I 
must  confess  that  in  such  weather  every  healthy  in- 
dividual with  time  at  his  disposal  should  be  inhaling 
this  air  at  a  leisurely  trot  or  stride  as  his  habit  may 
be.  You,  Miss  Levice,  should  get  on  your  walking 
togs  instantly." 

"  Yes,  but  not  conveniently.  My  father  and  I 
never  failed  to  take  our  morning  constitutional  to- 
gether when  all  was  well.  Father  always  gave  me 
the  dubious  compliment  of  saying  I  walked  as  straight 
and  took  as  long  strides  as  a  boy.  Being  a  great  lover 
of  the  exercise,  I  was  sorry  my  pas  was  not  ladylike." 

"  You  doubtless  make  a  capital  companion,  as 
your  father  evidently  remembered  what  a  trouble- 
some thing  it  is  to  conform  one's  length  of  limb  to 
the  dainty  footsteps  of  a  woman.*' 

"  Father  has  no  trouble  on  that  score,"  said  Ruth, 
laughing. 

The  doctor  smiled  in  response,  and  raising  his  hat, 
said,  "That  is  where  he  has  the  advantage  over  a 
tall  man." 

Going  over  several  such  scenes,  Ruth  could  re- 
member nothing  in  his  manner  but  a  sort  of  invigo- 
rating, friendly  bluntness,  totally  at  variance  with  the 
peculiarities  of  the  "  lady's  man  "  that  Louis  had  in- 
sinuated he  was  accounted.  She  resolved  to  scru- 
tinize him  more  narrowly  the  next  morning. 

Mrs.  Levice's  room  was  handsomely  furnished  and 
daintily  appointed.  Even  from  her  pillows  she  would 
have  detected  any  lapse  in  its  exquisite  neatness,  and 
one  of  Ruth's  duties  was  to  leave  none  to  be  detected, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  43 

The  house  was  large;  and  with  three  servants  the 
young  girl  had  to  do  a  great  deal  of  supervising. 
She  took  a  natural  pride  in  having  things  go  as 
smoothly  as  under  her  mother's  administration ;  and 
Mr.  Levice  said  it  was  well  his  wife  had  laid  her- 
self on  the  shelf,  as  the  new  broom  was  a  vast 
improvement. 

Ruth  had  given  the  last  touches  to  her  mother's 
dark  hair,  and  was  reading  aloud  the  few  unexciting 
items  one  finds  in  the  morning's  paper.  Mrs.  Levice, 
propped  almost  to  a  sitting  position  by  many  downy 
pillows,  polished  her  nails  and  half  listened.  Her 
cheeks  were  no  longer  brightly  flushed,  but  rather 
pale;  the  expression  of  her  eyes  was  placid,  and 
her  slight  hand  quite  firm;  the  strain  lifted  from 
her,  a  great  weariness  had  taken  its  place.  The 
sweet  morning  air  came  in  unrestrained  at  the  open 
window. 

Ruth's  reading  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
the  maid,  carrying  a  dainty  basket  of  Duchesse 
roses. 

"  For  Madame,"  she  said,  handing  it  to  Ruth,  who 
came  forward  to  take  it. 

"  Read  the  card  yourself,"  she  said,  placing  it  in 
her  mother's  hand  as  the  girl  retired.  A  pleased 
smile  broke  over  Mrs.  Levice's  face ;  she  buried  her 
face  in  the  roses,  and  then  opened  the  envelope. 

"  From  Louis  !  "  she  exclaimed  delightedly.  "  Poor 
fellow!  he  was  dreadfully  upset  when  he  came  in. 
He  did  not  say  much,  but  his  look  and  hand- shake 
were  enough  as  he  bent  to  kiss  me.  Do  you  know, 
Ruth,  I  think  our  Louis  has  a  very  loving  disposition  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear?" 


44  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Yes.  One  would  not  think  so,  judging  from  his 
manner ;  but  I  know  him  to  be  unusually  sympathetic 
for  a  man.  I  would  sooner  have  him  for  a  friend 
than  many  a  woman ;  he  has  not  many  equals  among 
the  young  men  I  know.  Don't  you  agree  with  me, 
girlie?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  always  liked  Louis." 

"  How  coldly  you  say  that !  And,  by  the  way,  it 
struck  me  as  very  queer  last  night  that  you  did  not 
kiss  him  after  his  absence  of  a  week.  Since  when  has 
this  formal  hand-shake  come  into  use?" 

A  slight  flush  crimsoned  Ruth's  cheek. 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,"  she  said,  smiling ;  "  I  always 
kissed  Louis  even  after  a  day's  absence.  But  some 
few  months  ago  he  inaugurated  the  new  regime,  and 
holds  me  at  arm's  length.  I  can't  ask  him  why,  when 
he  looks  at  me  so  matter- of- factly  through  his  eye- 
glass, can  I?  " 

"  No ;  certainly  not."  A  slight  frown  marred  the 
complacency  of  Mrs.  Levice's  brow.  Such  actions 
were  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  her  darling  plan. 
Arnold  was  much  to  her ;  but  she  wished  him  to  be 
more.  This  was  a  side-track  upon  which  she  had  not 
wished  her  train  to  move. 

Her  cogitations  took  a  turn  when  she  heard  a  quick, 
firm  footfall  in  the  hall. 

Ruth  anticipated  the  knock,  and  opened  the  door 
to  the  doctor. 

Bowing  slightly  to  her,  he  advanced  rather  hur- 
riedly to  the  bedside.  He  had  not  taken  off  his 
gloves,  and  a  certain  air  of  purposeful  gravity  replaced 
his  usual  leisurely  manner. 

"  Good- morning,  Mrs.  Levice,"  he  said,  taking  her 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  45 

hand  in  his,  and  looking  searchingly  down  at  her. 
"  How  are  you  feeling  this  morning?  Any  starts  or 
shakes  of  any  sort?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  beginning  to  feel  as  impassive  and 
stupid  as  a  well-fed  animal.  Won't  you  sit  down, 
Doctor?" 

"  No ;  I  have  a  consultation  in  a  very  short  time. 
Keep  right  on  as  you  have  been  doing.  I  do  not 
think  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  call  for  several 
days  now;  probably  not  before  Friday." 

"  And  to-day  is  Tuesday  !  Am  I  to  see  no  one 
till  then?" 

"  No  one  but  those  you  have  seen.  Pray  do  not 
complain,  Mrs.  Levice,"  he  continued  rather  sternly. 
"  You  are  a  very  fortunate  invalid  ;  illness  with  you 
is  cushioned  in  every  conceivable  corner.  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  divide  some  of  your  blessings.  As  I 
cannot,  I  wish  you  to  appreciate  them  as  they  de- 
serve. Do  not  come  down,  Miss  Levice,"  as  she 
moved  to  follow  him  ;  "  I  am  in  a  great  hurry.  Good- 
morning." 

"  How  harassed  he  looked  !  I  wonder  who  is  his 
patient !  "  observed  Mrs.  Levice,  as  Ruth  quietly  re- 
turned to  her  seat.  A  sunbeam  fell  aslant  the  girl's 
preoccupied  face.  The  doctor's  few  words  had  given 
her  food  for  thought. 

When  later  on  she  remembered  how  she  was  going 
to  disprove  for  herself  Louis's  allegations,  she  won- 
dered if  he  could  have  found  anything  to  mock  at, 
had  he  been  present,  in  Kemp's  abrupt  visit  of  the 
morning. 


46  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER    V. 

RUTH  always  dressed  well.  Indeed,  any  little 
jealousy  her  lovely  presence  might  occasion 
was  usually  summed  up  in  the  terse  innuendo,  "  Fine 
feathers  make  fine  birds." 

To  dress  well  is  to  dress  appropriately  to  time, 
place,  and  season.  Having  a  full  purse,  she  could 
humor  every  occasion  with  a  change  of  gown ;  being 
possessed  of  good  taste,  her  toilets  never  offended ; 
desiring  to  look  pleasing,  as  every  woman  should,  she 
studied  what  was  becoming;  having  a  mother  to 
whom  a  good  toilet  was  one  of  the  most  pressing  con- 
venances, and  who  delighted  in  planning  beautiful 
gowns  for  her  beautiful  daughter,  there  was  nothing 
lacking  to  prevent  Ruth  from  being  well-dressed. 

On  this  summer's  afternoon  she  was  clad  from  head 
to  foot  in  soft,  pale  gray.  Every  movement  of  her 
young  body,  as  she  walked  toward  town,  betokened 
health  and  elastic  strength.  Her  long,  easy  gait 
precluded  any  idea  of  hurry ;  she  noticed  everything 
she  passed,  from  a  handsome  horse  to  a  dirty  child. 

She  was  approaching  that  portion  of  Geary  Street 
which  the  doctors  have  appropriated,  and  she  care- 
fully scanned  each  silvery  sign-plate  in  search  of  Dr. 
Kemp's  name.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  had 
occasion  to  go;  and  with  a  little  feeling  of  novel 
curiosity  she  ran  up  the  stairs  leading  to  his  office. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL,  47 

It  was  just  three,  —  the  time  stated  as  the  limit  of 
his  office-hours;  but  when  Ruth  entered  the  hand- 
some waiting-room,  two  or  three  patients  were  still 
awaiting  their  turns.  Seated  in  one  of  the  easy- 
chairs,  near  the  window,  was  an  aristocratic-looking 
woman,  whom  Ruth  recognized  as  a  friend  of  one 
of  her  Christian  friends,  and  with  whom  she  had 
a  speaking  acquaintance.  Nodding  pleasantly  in  re- 
sponse to  the  rather  frigid  bow,  she  walked  to  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  laying  upon  the  table  a  bunch 
of  roses  that  she  carried,  proceeded  to  select  one  of 
the  magazines  scattered  about.  As  she  sat  down,  she 
found  herself  opposite  a  stout  Irishwoman,  coarsely 
but  cleanly  dressed,  who  with  undisguised  admiration 
took  in  every  detail  of  Ruth's  appearance.  She  over- 
looked the  evident  simplicity  of  the  woman's  stare ; 
but  the  wistful,  yearning  look  of  a  little  girl  who  re- 
clined upon  the  lounge  caused  her  to  sit  with  her 
magazine  unopened.  As  soon  as  she  perceived  that 
it  was  her  flowers  that  the  child  regarded  so  longingly, 
she  bent  forward,  and  holding  out  a  few  roses,  said 
invitingly,  — 

"  Would  you  like  these  ?  " 

There  is  generally  something  startling  in  the  sudden 
sound  of  a  voice  after  a  long  silence  between  strangers  ; 
but  the  pretty  cadence  of  Ruth's  gentle  voice  bore  no 
suggestion  of  abruptness. 

"  Indeed,  and  she  just  do  dote  on  'em,"  answered 
the  mother,  in  a  loud  tone,  for  the  blushing  child. 

"  So  do  I,"  responded  Ruth ;  and  leaning  farther 
forward,  she  put  them  in  the  little  hand. 

But  the  child's  hand  did  not  close  over  them,  and 
the  large  eyes  turned  piteously  to  her  mother. 


48  OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL. 

"  It 's  paralyzed  she  is,"  hurriedly  explained  the 
mother.  "  Shall  Mamma  hold  the  beautiful  roses  for 
ye,  darlint?" 

"  Please,"  answered  the  childish  treble. 

Ruth  hesitated  a  second,  and  then  rising  and 
bending  over  her  said, — 

"  No  ;  I  know  of  a  better  way.  Would  n't  you  like 
to  have  me  fasten  them  in  your  belt?  There,  now 
you  can  smell  them  all  the  time." 

e:  Roses  is  what  she  likes  mostly,"  proceeded  the 
mother,  garrulously,  "  and  she  's  for  giving  the  doctor 
one  every  time  she  can  when  he  comes.  Faith  ! 
it 's  about  all  he  do  get  for  his  goodness,  for  what 
with  —  " 

The  sudden  opening  of  the  folding-door  interrupted 
her  flow  of  talk.  Seeing  the  doctor  standing  on  the 
threshold  as  a  signal  for  the  next  in  waiting  to  come 
forward,  the  poor  woman  arose  preparatory  to  helping 
her  child  into  the  consulting-room. 

"  Let  me  help  Mamie,  Mrs.  O'Brien,"  said  he, 
coming  toward  her.  At  the  same  moment  the 
elegant-looking  woman  rose  from  her  chair  and 
swept  toward  him. 

"  I  believe  it  is  my  turn,"  she  said,  in  response  to 
his  questioning  salutation. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  came  before  Mrs.  O'Brien.  If 
so,  walk  in,"  he  answered,  moving  the  portiere  aside 
for  the  other  to  enter. 

"  Sure,  Doctor,"  broke  in  Mrs.  O'Brien,  anxiously, 
"  we  came  in  together." 

"  Indeed  ! "  He  looked  from  the  florid,  flustered 
face  to  the  haughtily  impassive  woman  beside  her. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  courteously,  "  I  know  Mrs. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  49 

O'Brien  is  wanted  at  home  by  her  little  ones.     Mrs. 
Baker,  you  will  not  object,  I  am  sure." 

It  was  now  the  elegant  woman's  turn  to  flush  as 
Kemp  took  up  the  child. 

Ruth  felt  a  leap  of  delight  at  the  action.  It  was  a 
quiet  lesson  to  be  laid  to  heart ;  and  she  knew  she 
could  never  see  him  in  a  better  light  than  when  he 
left  the  room  holding  the  little  charity  patient  in  his 
arms. 

She  also  noticed  with  a  tinge  of  amusement  the 
look  of  added  hauteur  on  the  face  of  Mrs.  Baker,  as 
she  returned  to  her  seat  at  the  window. 

"  Haughtiness,"  mused  Ruth,  "  is  merely  a  cloak 
to  selfishness,  or  the  want  of  a  proper  spirit  of 
humanity." 

The  magazine  article  remained  unread  ;  she  drifted 
into  a  sort  of  day-dream,  and  scarcely  noticed  when 
Mrs.  Baker  left  the  room. 

"Well,  MissLevice." 

She  started  up,  slightly  embarrassed,  as  the  doctor's 
voice  thus  aroused  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  coming  forward  and 
flushing  slightly  under  his  amused  smile.  "  It  was 
so  quiet  here  that  I  forgot  where  I  was." 

He  stood  aside  as  she  passed  into  the  room,  bring- 
ing with  her  an  exquisite  fragrance  of  roses. 

"Will  you  be  seated?"  he  asked,  as  he  turned 
from  closing  the  door. 

"  No ;  it  is  not  worth  while." 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  —  you  or  your  mother?  " 

There  had  been  nothing  disconcerting  in  the  Irish- 
woman's stare;  but   she  felt   suddenly  hot  and  un- 
comfortable under  the  doctor's  broad  gaze. 
4 


SO  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Neither  of  us,"  she  answered ;  "  I  broke  the 
tonic  bottle  this  morning,  and  as  the  number  was 
destroyed,  I  should  like  to  have  you  give  me  another 
prescription." 

"  Directly.     Take  this  chair  for  a  moment." 

She  seated  herself  perforce,  and  he  took  the  chair 
beside  the  desk. 

"How  is  she  since  yesterday?"  he  asked,  as  he 
wrote,  without  looking  up. 

"  Quite  as  comfortable." 

He  handed  her  the  prescription  presently,  and  she 
arose  at  once.  He  stepped  forward  to  open  the  outer 
door  for  her. 

"  I  hope  you  no  longer  feel  alarmed  over  her 
health,"  he  remarked,  with  a  hand  on  the  knob. 

"  No ;  you  have  made  us  feel  there  was  no  cause 
for  it.  But  for  your  method  I  am  afraid  there  might 
have  been." 

"Thank  you;  but  do  not  think  anything  of  the 
kind.  Your  nursing  was  as  potent  a  factor  as  my  di- 
rections. It  is  not  Congress,  but  the  people,  who 
make  the  country,  you  know." 

"  That  is  condescending,  coming  from  Congress," 
she  laughed  gayly ;  "  but  I  must  disclaim  the  compli- 
ment, I  am  sorry  to  say;  my  nursing  was  only  a 
name." 

"  As  you  please.  Miss  Levice,  may  I  beg  a  rose  of 
you?  No,  not  all.  Well,  thank  you,  they  will  look 
wonderful  in  a  certain  room  I  am  thinking  of." 

"  Yes?  "  There  was  a  note  of  inquiry  in  the  little 
word  in  reply  to  Kemp's  pointed  remark  spoken  as 
with  a  sudden  purpose. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  leaning  his  back  against  the 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  $1 

door  and  looking  earnestly  down  at  the  tall  girl ;  "  the 
room  of  a  lad  without  even  the  presence  of  a  mother 
to  make  it  pretty ; "  he  paused  as  if  noting  the  effect 
of  his  words.  "  He  is  as  lonely  and  uncomplaining 
as  a  tree  would  be  in  a  desert;  these  roses  will  be 
quite  a  godsend  to  him."  He  finished  his  sentence 
pleasantly  at  sight  of  the  expression  of  sympathy  in 
the  lovely  brown  eyes. 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  care  to  see  any  one?  " 

"Well,"  replied  the  doctor,  slowly,  "I  think  he 
would  not  mind  seeing  you." 

"  Then  will  you  tell  me  where  he  lives  so  that  I 
can  go  there  some  day?" 

"Some  day?  Why  not  to-day?  Would  it  be 
impossible  to  arrange  it?" 

"Why,  no,"  she  faltered,  looking  at  him  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Excuse  my  curiosity,  please ;  but  the  boy  is  in 
such  pressing  need  of  some  pleasurable  emotion 
that  as  soon  as  I  looked  at  you  and  your  roses  I 
thought,  (  Now,  that  would  not  be  a  bad  thing  for 
Bob.'  You  see,  I  was  simply  answering  a  question 
that  has  bothered  me  all  day.  Then  will  you  drive 
there  with  me  now?" 

"  Would  not  that  be  impossible  with  your 
driver? "  she  asked,  searching  unaccountably  for 
an  excuse. 

"  I  can  easily  dispense  with  him." 

"But  won't  my  presence  be  annoying?  "  she  per- 
sisted, hesitating  oddly. 

"Not  to  me,"  he  replied,  turning  quickly  for  his 
hat.  "  Come,  then,  please,  I  must  waste  no  more 
time  in  Bob's  good  cause." 


52  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

She  followed  him  silently  with  a  sensation  of  quiet 
excitement. 

Presently  she  found  herself  comfortably  seated  be- 
side the  doctor,  who  drove  off  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  turning  his  horses  westward, 
"  I  shall  have  to  make  a  call  out  here  on  Jones 
Street  before  going  to  Bob.  You  will  not  mind  the 
delay,  Miss  Levice,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  no.  This  is  '  my  afternoon  off,'  you  know. 
Father  is  at  home,  and  my  mother  will  not  miss  me 
in  the  least.  I  was  just  thinking — " 

She  came  to  a  sudden  pause.  She  had  just  re- 
membered that  she  was  about  to  become  communi- 
cative to  a  comparative  stranger;  the  intent,  inter- 
ested look  in  Kemp's  eye  as  he  glanced  at  her  was 
the  disturbing  element. 

"You  were  thinking  what?"  he  prompted  with  his 
eye  now  to  the  horses'  heads. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be  edified  if  I  con- 
tinued," she  answered  hastily,  biting  her  lip.  She 
had  been  about  to  remark  that  her  father  would  miss 
her,  nevertheless  —  but  such  personal  platitudes  are 
not  always  in  good  taste.  Seeing  that  she  was  disin- 
clined to  finish  her  sentence,  he  did  not  urge  her ;  and 
a  few  minutes  later  he  drew  up  his  horses  before  a 
rather  imposing  house. 

"  I  shall  not  be  gone  a  minute,  I  think,"  he  said, 
as  he  sprang  out  and  was  about  to  attach  the  reins 
to  the  post. 

"  Let  me  hold  them,  please,"  said  Ruth,  eagerly 
stretching  forth  a  hand. 

He  placed  them  in  her  hand  with  a  smile,  and 
turned  in  at  the  gateway. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  53 

He  had  been  in  the  house  about  five  minutes  when 
she  saw  him  come  out  hastily.  His  hat  was  pulled 
down  over  his  brows,  which  were  gathered  in  an  un- 
mistakable frown.  At  the  moment  when  he  slammed 
the  gate  behind  him,  a  stout  woman  hurrying  along 
the  sidewalk  accosted  him  breathlessly. 

He  waited  stolidly  with  his  foot  on  the  carriage  - 
step  till  she  came  up. 

"  So  sorry  I  had  to  go  out !  "  she  burst  forth.  "  How 
did  you  find  my  husband?  What  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

"  Madame,"  he  replied  shortly,  "  since  you  ask,  I 
think  your  husband  is  little  short  of  an  idiot !  " 

Ruth  felt  herself  flush  as  she  heard. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  in  consternation. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked. 

"  Matter  ?  Mayonnaise  is  the  matter.  If  a  man 
with  a  weak  stomach  like  his  cannot  resist  gorging 
himself  with  things  he  has  been  strictly  prohibited 
from  touching,  he  had  better  proclaim  himself  irre- 
sponsible and  be  done.  It  is  nonsense  to  call  me  in 
when  he  persists  in  cutting  up  such  antics.  Good- 
afternoon." 

And  abruptly  raising  his  hat,  he  sprang  in  be- 
side Ruth,  taking  the  reins  from  her  without  a 
word. 

She  felt  very  meek  and  small  beside  the  evidently 
exasperated  physician.  He  seemed  to  forget  her 
presence  entirely,  and  she  had  too  much  tact  to 
break  the  silence  of  an  angry  man.  In  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  the  explosion  is  bound  to  take  place ;  but 
woe  to  him  who  lights  the  powder  ! 

They  were  now  driving  northeast  toward  the  quar- 


54  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

ter  known  as  North  Beach.  The  sweet,  fresh  breeze 
in  the  western  heights  toward  Golden  Gate  is  here 
charged  with  odors  redolent  of  anything  but  the 
"  shores  of  Araby  the  blest." 

Kemp  finally  gave  vent  to  his  feelings. 

"Some  men,"  he  said  deliberately,  as  if  laying 
down  an  axiom,  "  have  no  more  conception  of  the 
dignity  of  controlled  appetites  than  savages.  Here  is 
one  who  could  not  withstand  anything  savory  to  eat, 
to  save  his  soul ;  otherwise  he  is  a  strong,  sensible 
man.  I  can't  account  for  it." 

"  The  force  of  habit,  perhaps,"  suggested  Ruth. 

"  Probably.  Jewish  appetite  is  known  to  dote  on 
the  fat  of  the  land." 

That  he  said  this  with  as  little  vituperation  as  if  he 
had  remarked  on  the  weather  Ruth  knew ;  and  she 
felt  no  inclination  to  resent  the  remark,  although  a 
vision  of  her  cousin  Jennie  protesting  did  present  it- 
self. Some  Jewish  people  with  diseased  imaginations 
take  every  remark  on  the  race  as  a  personal  calumny. 

"  We  always  make  the  reservation  that  the  fat  be 
clean,"  she  laughed. 

Kemp  flashed  around  at  her. 

"Miss  Levice,"  he  exclaimed  contritely,  "I  com- 
pletely forgot  —  I  hope  I  was  not  rude." 

"Why,  certainly  not,"  she  answered  half  merrily, 
half  earnestly.  "  Why  should  you  be  ?  " 

"  As  you  say,  why  should  I  be  ?  Jewish  indi- 
viduals, of  course,  have  their  faults  like  the  rest  of 
humanity.  As  a  race,  most  of  their  characteristics 
redound  to  their  honor,  in  my  estimation." 

"Thank  you/'  said  the  girl,  quietly.  "I  am  very 
proud  of  many  Jewish  traits." 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  55 

"Such  as  a  high  morality,  loyalty,  intelligence, 
filial  respect,  and  countless  other  things." 

"Yes." 

"  Besides,  it  is  wonderful  how  they  hold  the  bal- 
ance of  power  in  the  musical  and  histrionic  worlds. 
Still,  to  be  candid,  in  comparison  with  these,  they 
do  not  seem  to  have  made  much  headway  in  the 
other  branches  of  art.  Can  you  explain  it,  Miss 
Levice?" 

He  waited  deferentially  for  a  reply. 

"  I  was  trying  to  think  of  a  proper  answer,"  she 
responded  with  earnest  simplicity ;  "  and  I  think  that 
their  great  musical  and  histrionic  powers  are  the  re- 
sults not  so  much  of  art  as  of  passion  inherited  from 
times  and  circumstances  stern  and  sad  since  the  race 
began.  Painting  and  sculpture  require  other  things." 

"  Which  the  Jew  cannot  obtain?  " 

A  soft  glow  overspread  her  face  and  mounted  to 
her  brow. 

"Dr.  Kemp,"  she  answered,  "we  have  begun. 
I  should  like  to  quote  to  you  the  beautiful  illustra- 
tion with  which  one  of  our  rabbis  was  inspired  to 
answer  a  clergyman  asking  the  same  question;  but 
1  should  only  spoil  that  which  in  his  mouth  seemed 
eloquent." 

"You  would  not,  Miss  Levice.  Tell  the  story, 
please." 

They  were  on  level  ground,  and  the  doctor  could 
disengage  his  attention  from  the  horses.  He  did  not 
fail  to  note  the  emotion  that  lit  up  her  expressive 
face,  and  made  her  sweet  voice  tremble. 

"  It  is  the  story  of  the  Rose  of  Sharon.  This  is  it 
briefly  :  A  pilgrim  was  about  to  start  on  a  voyage  to 


5 6  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

the  Holy  Land.  In  bidding  a  friend  good-by,  he 
said  :  '  In  that  far  land  to  which  I  am  journeying,  is 
there  not  some  relic,  some  sacred  souvenir  of  the 
time  beautiful,  that  I  can  bring  to  you  ?  '  The  friend 
mused  awhile.  '  Yes,'  he  made  answer  finally ; 
'  there  is  a  small  thing,  and  one  not  difficult  to  ob- 
tain. I  beg  of  you  to  bring  me  a  single  rose  from 
the  plains  of  Sharon.'  The  pilgrim  promised,  and 
departed.  On  his  return  he  presented  himself  before 
his  friend.  'You  have  brought  it?'  he  cried. 
'Friend,'  answered  the  pilgrim,  sadly,  'I  have 
brought  your  rose  \  but,  alas  !  after  all  this  weary 
travelling  it  is  now  but  a  poor,  withered  thing.' 
'  Give  it  me  ! '  exclaimed  the  friend,  eagerly.  The 
other  did  so.  True,  it  was  lifeless  and  withered ;  not 
a  vestige  remained  of  its  once  fragrant  glory.  But  as 
the  man  held  it  tenderly  in  his  hand,  memory  and 
love  untold  overcame  him,  and  he  wept  in  ecstasy. 
And  as  his  tears  fell  on  the  faded  rose,  lo  !  the  petals 
sprang  up,  flushed  into  life ;  an  exquisite  perfume 
enveloped  it,  —  it  had  revived  in  all  its  beauty.  Sir, 
in  the  words  of  the  rabbi,  '  In  the  light  of  tolera- 
tion and  love,  we  too  have  revived,  we  too  are 
looking  up.'  " 

As  the  girl  paused,  Kemp  slightly,  almost  reveren- 
tially, raised  his  hat. 

"  Miss  Levice,  that  is  exquisite,"  he  said  softly. 

They  had  reached  the  old,  poorer  section  of  the 
city,  and  the  doctor  stopped  before  a  weather-beaten 
cottage. 

"This  is  where  Bob  receives,"  he  said,  holding 
out  a  hand  to  Ruth ;  "  in  all  truth  it  cannot  be  called 
a  home." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  57 

Ruth  had  a  peculiar,  inexplicable  feeling  of  mutual 
understanding  with  the  doctor  as  she  went  in  with 
him.  She  hardly  realized  that  she  had  been  an  im- 
pressionable witness  of  some  of  his  dominant  moods, 
and  that  she  herself  had  been  led  on  to  an  unre- 
strained display  of  feeling. 


58  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THEY  walked  directly  into  a  bare,  dark  hallway. 
There  was  no  one  stirring,  and  Kemp  softly 
opened  the  door  of  one  of  several  rooms  leading  into 
the  passage.  Here  a  broad  band  of  yellow  sunlight 
fell  unrestrained  athwart  the  waxen-like  face  of  the 
sleeping  boy.  The  rest  of  the  simple,  poor-looking 
room  was  in  shadow.  The  doctor  noiselessly  closed 
the  door  behind  them,  and  stepped  to  the  bed, 
which  was  covered  with  a  heavy  horse-blanket. 

The  boy  on  the  bed  even  in  sleep  could  not  be 
accounted  good-looking ;  there  was  a  heaviness  of 
feature,  a  plenitude  of  freckles,  a  shock  of  lack-lustre 
hair,  that  made  poor  Bob  Bard  anything  but  a  thing 
of  beauty.  And  yet,  as  Ruth  looked  at  him,  and  saw 
Kemp's  strong  white  hand  placed  gently  on  the  low 
forehead,  a  great  wave  of  tender  pity  took  possession 
of  her.  Sleep  puts  the  strongest  at  the  mercy  of  the 
watcher;  there  is  a  loneliness  about  it,  a  silent,  ex- 
pressive plea  for  protection,  that  appeals  uncon- 
sciously. Ruth  would  have  liked  to  raise  the  rough, 
lonely  head  to  her  bosom. 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  to  wake  him  now,'1  said  the 
doctor,  in  a  low  voice,  coming  back  to  her  side  ;  "  he 
is  sleeping  restfully ;  and  that  is  what  he  needs.  I  am 
sorry  our  little  plan  is  frustrated ;  but  it  would  be 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  59 

senseless  to  wait,  as  there  is  no  telling  when  he  will 
waken." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  the  girl's 
face,  which  he  noticed. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  you  might  leave  your  roses 
where  he  cannot  fail  to  see  them.  His  conjectures 
on  their  mysterious  appearance  will  rouse  him  suffi- 
ciently for  one  day." 

He  watched  her  move  lightly  across  the  room,  and 
fill  a  cup  with  water  from  an  earthenware  pitcher. 
She  looked  about  for  a  second  as  if  hesitating  where 
to  place  it,  and  then  quickly  drew  up  a  high-backed 
wooden  chair  close  to  the  bedside,  and  placed 
thereon  the  cup  with  the  roses,  so  that  they  looked 
straight  into  the  face  of  the  slumbering  lad. 

"We  will  go  now,"  Kemp  said,  and  opened  the 
door  for  Ruth  to  pass  before  him.  She  followed  him 
slowly,  but  on  the  threshold  drew  back,  a  thoughtful 
little  pucker  on  her  brow. 

"  I  think  I  shall  wait  anyway,"  she  explained.  "  I 
should  like  to  talk  with  Bob  a  little." 

The  doctor  looked  slightly  annoyed. 

"You  had  better  drive  home  with  me,"  he 
objected. 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  drawing  farther  back 
into  the  room  ;  "  but  the  Jackson  Street  cars  are  very 
convenient." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  should  prefer  to  have  you  come 
with  me,"  he  insisted. 

"But  I  do  not  wish  to,"  she  repeated  quietly; 
"besides,  I  have  decided  to  stay." 

"  That  settles  it,  then,"  smiled  Kemp  ;  and  shaking 
her  hand,  he  went  out  alone. 


60  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

11  When  my  lady  will,  she  will ;  and  when  she  won't, 
she  won't,"  he  mused,  gathering  up  his  reins.  But 
the  terminal  point  to  the  thought  was  a  smile. 

Ruth,  thus  left  alone,  seated  herself  on  the  one 
other  chair  near  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Strange  to  say, 
though  she  gazed  at  Bob,  her  thoughts  had  flown  out 
of  the  room.  She  was  dimly  conscious  that  she  was 
pleasantly  excited.  Had  she  cared  to  look  the  cause 
boldly  in  the  face,  she  would  have  known  that  Miss 
Ruth  Levice's  vanity  had  been  highly  fed  by  Dr. 
Kemp's  unmistakable  desire  for  her  assistance.  He 
must  at  least  have  looked  at  her  with  friendly  eyes  ; 
but  here  her  modesty  drew  a  line  even  for  herself, 
and  giving  herself  a  mental  shake,  she  saw  that  two 
lambent  brown  eyes  were  looking  wonderingly  at  her 
from  the  face  of  the  sick  lad. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Bob?"  she  asked,  rising 
immediately  and  smiling  down  at  him. 

The  boy  forgot  to  answer. 

"The  doctor  brought  me  here,"  she  went  on 
brightly ;  "  but  as  you  were  asleep,  he  could  not 
wait.  Are  you  feeling  better,  Bob?" 

The  soft,  star-like  eyes  did  not  wander  in  their 
gaze. 

"Why  did  you  come?  "  he  breathed  finally.  His 
voice  was  surprisingly  musical. 

"Why?"  faltered  Ruth.  "Oh,  to  bring  you 
these  roses.  Do  you  care  for  flowers,  Bob?"  She 
lifted  the  mass  of  delicate  buds  toward  him.  Two 
pale,  transparent  hands  went  out  to  meet  them. 
Tenderly  as  you  sometimes  see  a  mother  press  the 
cheek  of  her  babe  to  her  own,  he  drew  them  to  his 
cheek. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  6 1 

"  Oh,  my  darlings,  my  darlings  !  "  he  murmured 
passionately,  with  his  lips  pressed  to  the  fragrant 
petals. 

"  Do  you  love  them,  then,  so  much?  " 

"  Lady,"  replied  the  boy,  raising  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture,  "  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  to  me  like 
flowers." 

"I  never  thought  boys  cared  so  for  flowers," 
remarked  Ruth,  in  surprise. 

"I  am  a. gardener,"  said  he,  simply,  and  again  fell 
to  caressing  the  roses.  Sitting  up,  he  looked  fully 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  old. 

"  You  must  have  missed  them  during  your  illness," 
observed  Ruth. 

A  long  sigh  answered  her.  The  boy  rested  his 
dreamy  eyes  upon  her.  He  was  no  longer  ugly,  with 
his  thoughts  illumining  his  face. 

"  Marechal  Niel,"  she  heard  him  whisper,  still 
with  his  eyes  upon  her,  "  all  in  soft,  radiant  robes 
like  a  gracious  queen.  Lady,  you  fit  well  next  my 
Homer  rose." 

"  What  Homer  rose  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  humoring  the 
flower-poet's  odd  conceit. 

"  My  strong,  brave  Homer.  There  is  none  like 
him  for  strength,  with  all  his  gentle  perfume  folded 
close  to  his  heart.  I  used  to  think  these  Duchesses 
would  suit  him  best ;  but  now,  having  seen  you,  I 
know  they  were  too  frail,  — Marechal  Niel."  It  was 
impossible  to  resent  openly  the  boy's  musings ;  but 
with  a  quick  insistence  that  stemmed  the  current  of 
his  thoughts,  she  said, — 

"  Tell  me  where  you  suffer,  Bob." 

"  I    do   not   suffer.     I  am  only  weak ;  but   he  is 


62  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

nourishing  me,  and  Mrs.  Mills  brings  me  what  he 
orders." 

"  And  is  there  anything  you  would  like  to  have  of 
which  you  forgot  to  tell  him?  " 

"I  never  tell  him  anything  I  wish/'  replied  the 
boy,  proudly.  "  He  knows  beforehand.  Did  you 
never  draw  up  close  to  a  delicate  flower,  lay  your 
cheek  softly  upon  it,  so,  —  close  your  eyes,  so,  —  and 
listen  to  the  tale  it 's  telling?  Well,  that  is  what  my 
good  friend  does  always." 

It  was  like  listening  to  music  to  hear  the  slow, 
drawling  words  of  the  invalid.  Ruth's  hand  closed 
softly  over  his. 

"I  have  some  pretty  stories  at  home  about  flowers," 
she  said ;  "  would  you  like  to  read  them?  " 

"  I  can't  read  very  well,"  answered  Bob,  in  un- 
abashed simplicity. 

Yet  his  spoken  words  were  flawless. 

"Then  I  shall  read  them  to  you,"  she  answered 
pleasantly,  "  to-morrow,  Bob,  say  at  about  three." 

"You  will  come  again?"  The  heavy  mouth 
quivered  in  eager  surprise. 

"  Why,  yes ;  now  that  I  know  you,  I  must  know 
you  better.  May  I  come?" 

"  Oh,  lady  !  " 

Ruth  went  out  enveloped  in  that  look  of  gratitude. 
It  was  the  first  directly  personal  expression  of  honest 
gratitude  she  had  ever  received ;  and  as  she  walked 
down  the  hill,  she  longed  to  do  something  that  would 
be  really  helpful  to  some  one.  She  had  led,  on  the 
whole,  so  far,  an  egotistic  life.  Being  their  only  child, 
her  parents  expected  much  of  her.  During  her  school- 
life  she  had  been  a  sort  of  human  reservoir  for  all  her 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  63 

father's  ideas,  whims,  and  hobbies.  True,  he  had 
made  her  take  a  wide  interest  in  everything  within 
the  line  of  vision ;  hanging  on  his  arm,  as  they  wan- 
dered off  daily  in  their  peripatetic  school,  he  had 
imbued  her  with  all  his  manly  nobility  of  soul.  But 
theorizing  does  not  give  much  hold  on  a  subject,  the 
mind  being  taken  up  with  its  own  clever  elucidations. 
For  the  past  six  months,  after  a  year's  travel  in 
Europe,  her  mother  had  led  her  on  in  a  whirl  of  what 
she  called  happiness.  Ruth  had  soon  gauged  the 
worth  of  this  surface-life,  and  now  that  a  lull  had 
come,  she  realized  that  what  she  needed  was  some 
interest  outside  of  herself,  —  an  interest  which  the 
duties  of  a  mere  society  girl  do  not  allow  to  de- 
velop to  a  real  good. 

A  plan  slowly  formed  itself  in  her  mind,  in  which 
she  became  so  engrossed  that  she  unconsciously 
crossed  the  cable  of  the  Jackson  Street  cars.  She  did 
not  turn  till  a  hand  was  suddenly  laid  upon  her  arm. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  part  of  town?  "  broke 
in  Louis  Arnold's  voice  in  evident  anger. 

"  Oh,  Louis,  how  you  startled  me  !  What  is  the 
matter  with  this  part  of  town?" 

"You  are  on  a  very  disreputable  street.  Where 
are  you  going?  " 

"  Home." 

"  Then  be  so  kind  as  to  turn  back  with  me  and 
take  the  cars." 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  unused  to  his  tone  of 
command,  and  turned  with  him. 

"How  do  you  happen  to  be  here?"  he  asked 
shortly. 

"  Dr.  Kemp  took  me  to  see  a  poor  patient  of  his." 


64  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Dr.  Kemp?"  surprise  raised  his  eyebrows  half 
an  inch. 

"Yes." 

"  Indeed  !  Then,"  he  continued  in  cool,  biting 
words,  "  why  did  n't  he  carry  his  chanty  a  little 
farther  and  take  you  home  again?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  choose  to  go  with  him,"  she 
returned,  rearing  her  head  and  looking  calmly  at  him 
as  they  walked  along. 

"  Bah  !  What  had  your  wishing  or  not  wishing  to 
do  with  it  ?  The  man  knew  where  he  had  taken  you 
even  if  you  did  not  know.  This  quarter  is  occupied 
by  nothing  but  negroes  and  foreign  loafers.  It  was 
decidedly  ungentlemanly  to  leave  you  to  return  alone 
at  this  time  of  the  evening." 

"  Probably  he  gave  me  credit  for  being  able  to  take 
care  of  myself  in  broad  daylight." 

"  Probably  he  never  gave  it  a  second's  thought 
one  way  or  the  other.  Hereafter  you  had  better 
consult  your  natural  protectors  before  starting  out  on 
Quixotic  excursions  with  indifferent  strangers." 

"  Louis  ! " 

She  actually  stamped  her  little  foot  while  walking. 

"Well?" 

"  Stop  that,  please.     You  are  not  my  keeper." 

Her  cousin  smiled  quizzically.  They  took  their 
seats  on  the  dummy,  just  as  the  sun,  a  golden  ball, 
was  about  to  glide  behind  Lone  Mountain.  Late 
afternoon  is  a  quiet  time,  and  Ruth  and  Louis  did 
not  speak  for  a  while. 

The  girl  was  experiencing  a  whirl  of  conflicting 
emotions,  —  anger  at  Louis's  interference,  pleasure  at 
his  protecting  care,  annoyance  at  what  he  considered 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  65 

gross  negligence  on  the  doctor's  part,  and  a  sneaking 
pride,  in  defiance  of  his  insinuations,  over  the  thought 
that  Kemp  had  trusted  to  her  womanliness  as  a  safe- 
guard against  any  chance  annoyance.  She  also  felt 
ashamed  at  having  showed  temper. 

"  Louis,"  she  ventured  finally,  rubbing  her  shoulder 
against  his,  as  gentle  animals  conciliate  their  mates, 
"  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  so  harshly ;  but  it  exasperates 
me  to  hear  you  cast  slurs,  as  you  have  done  before, 
upon  Dr.  Kemp  in  his  absence." 

"  Why  should  it,  my  dear,  since  it  gives  you  a 
chance  to  uphold  him?" 

There  is  a  way  of  saying  "  my  dear "  that  is  as 
mortifying  as  a  slap  in  the  face. 

The  dark  blood  surged  over  the  girl's  cheeks.  She 
drew  a  long,  hard  breath,  and  then  said  in  a  low 
voice,  — 

"  I  think  we  will  not  quarrel,  Louis.  Will  you  get 
off  at  the  next  corner  with  me  ?  I  have  a  prescription 
to  be  made  up  at  the  drug-store." 

"  Certainly." 

If  Arnold  had  showed  anger,  he  was  man  enough 
not  to  be  ashamed  of  it;  this  is  one  of  man's  many 
lordly  rights. 


66  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MRS.  JULES  LEV1CE  was  slowly  gaining  the 
high-road  to  recovery,  and  many  of  the  re- 
strictions for  her  cure  had  been  removed.  As  a 
consequence,  and  with  an  eye  ever  to  Ruth's  social 
duties,  she  urged  her  to  leave  her  more  and  more  to 
herself. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Ruth  had  laid  the  case  of 
Bob  and  his  neighborhood  before  her  father's  con- 
sideration. A  Jewish  girl's  life  is  an  open  page  to 
her  family.  Matters  of  small  as  well  as  of  larger 
moment  are  freely  discussed.  The  result  is  that 
while  it  robs  her  of  much  of  her  Christian  sister's 
spontaneity,  which  often  is  the  latter's  greatest  charm, 
it  also,  through  the  sagacity  of  more  experienced 
heads,  guards  her  against  many  indiscretions.  This 
may  be  a  relic  of  European  training,  but  it  enables 
parents  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  their  daughters 
principles  which  compare  favorably  with  the  Ameri- 
can girl's  native  self-reliance.  It  was  as  natural  for 
Ruth  to  consult  her  father  in  this  trivial  matter,  in 
view  of  Louis's  disapproval,  as  it  would  be  for  her 
friend,  Dorothy  Gwynne,  to  sally  anywhere  so  long  as 
she  herself  felt  justified  in  so  doing. 

Ruth  really  wished  to  go ;  and  as  her  father,  after 
considering  the  matter,  could  find  no  objection,  she 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  6/ 

went.  After  that  it  was  enough  to  tell  her  mother 
that  she  was  going  to  see  Bob.  Mrs.  Levice  had 
heard  the  doctor  speak  of  him  to  Ruth  ;  and  any  little 
charity  that  came  in  her  way  she  was  only  too  happy 
to  forward. 

Bob's  plain,  ungarnished  room  soon  began  to  show 
signs  of  beauty  under  Ruth's  deft  fingers.  A  pot  of 
mignonette  in  the  window,  a  small  painting  of  exqui- 
site chrysanthemums  on  the  wall,  a  daily  bunch  of 
fresh  roses,  were  the  food  she  brought  for  his  poet 
soul.  But  there  were  other  substantial  things. 

The  day  after  she  had  replaced  the  coarse  horse- 
blanket  with  a  soft  down  quilt,  the  doctor  made 
one  of  his  bi-weekly  visits  to  her  mother. 

As  he  stood  taking  leave  of  Ruth  on  the  veranda, 
he  turned,  with  his  foot  on  the  last  step,  and  looked 
up  at  her  as  if  arrested  by  a  sudden  thought. 

"Miss  Levice,"  said  he,  "I  should  like  to  give  you 
a  friendly  scolding.  May  I?  " 

"  How  can  I  prevent  you?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you  I  should  not  indulge  Bob's 
love  of  luxury  as  you  do.  He  positively  refused  to 
get  up  yesterday  on  account  of  the  '  soft  feel,'  as  he 
termed  it,  of  that  quilt.  Now,  you  know,  he  must 
get  up ;  he  is  able  to,  and  in  a  week  I  wish  to  start 
him  in  to  work  again.  Then  he  won't  be  able  to 
afford  such  *  soft  feels,'  and  he  will  rebel.  He  has 
had  enough  coddling  for  his  own  good.  I  really 
think  it  is  mistaken  kindness  on  your  part,  Miss 
Levice." 

The  girl  was  leaning  lightly  against  one  of  the  sup- 
porting columns.  A  playful  smile  parted  her  lips  as 
she  listened. 


68  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Dr.  Kemp,"  she  replied,  "  may  I  give  you  a  little 
friendly  scolding?" 

"  You  have  every  right."  His  tone  was  somewhat 
earnest,  despite  his  smiling  eyes.  A  man  of  thirty- 
five  does  not  resent  a  friendly  scolding  from  a  win- 
some young  girl. 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  it  is  rather  hard  of  you  to 
deprive  poor  Bob  of  any  pleasure  to-day  may  bring, 
on  the  ground  that  to-morrow  he  may  wish  it  too, 
and  will  not  be  able  to  have  it?  " 

"  As  you  put  it,  it  does  seem  so ;  but  I  am  pugna- 
cious enough  to  wish  you  to  see  it  as  practically  as  I 
do.  Put  sentiment  aside,  and  the  only  sensible  thing 
to  be  done  now  is  to  prepare  him  for  the  hard,  un- 
cushioned  facts  of  an  active  life." 

"  But  why  must  it  be  so  hard  for  him?  " 

"  Why  ?  In  the  face  of  the  inevitable,  that  is  a 
time- wasting,  useless  question.  Life  is  so ;  even  if 
we  find  its  underlying  cause,  the  discovery  will  not 
alter  the  fact." 

"  Yes,  it  will." 

"How?" 

"  By  its  enabling  us  to  turn  our  backs  on  the  hard 
way  and  seek  a  softer." 

"  You  forget  that  strait-jacket  to  all  inclination, 
—  circumstance." 

"  And  are  you  not  forgetting  that  friendly  hands 
may  help  to  remove  the  strait-jacket?  " 

Her  lovely  face  looked  very  winning,  filled  with  its 
kindly  meaning. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  raising  his  hat  and  forget- 
ting to  replace  it  as  he  spoke ;  "  that  is  a  gentle 
truth ;  some  day  we  shall  discuss  this  further.  For 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  69 

the  present,  use  your  power  in  getting  Bob  upon  his 
feet." 

"  Yes."  She  gave  a  hurried  glance  at  the  door 
behind  her,  and  ran  quickly  down  to  the  lowest  step. 
"  Dr.  Kemp,"  said  she,  a  little  breathlessly,  "  I  have 
wished  for  some  time  to  ask  you  to  let  me  know 
when  you  have  any  cases  that  require  assistance  out- 
side of  a  physician's,  —  such  as  my  father  or  I  might 
lend.  You  must  have  a  broad  field  for  such  opportu- 
nities. Will  you  think  of  me  then,  please?  " 

"  I  will,"  he  replied,  looking  with  amused  pleasure 
at  her  flushed  face.  "  Going  in  for  philanthropy, 
Miss  Levice?  " 

"No;  going  out  for  it,  thank  you;  "  and  she  put 
her  hand  into  his  outstretched  one.  She  watched 
him  step  into  his  carriage ;  he  turned  and  raised  his 
hat  again,  —  a  trifling  circumstance  that  Ruth  dwelt 
upon  with  pleasure ;  a  second  glance  always  pre- 
supposes an  interested  first. 

He  did  not  fail  to  keep  his  promise ;  and  once  on 
the  lookout  for  "cases"  herself,  Ruth  soon  found 
enough  irons  in  the  fire  to  occupy  her  spare 
moments. 

Mrs.  Levice,  however,  insisted  upon  her  resuming 
her  place  in  society. 

"  A  young  girl  must  not  withdraw  herself  from  her 
sphere,  or  people  will  either  consider  her  eccentric  or 
will  forget  her  entirely.  Don't  be  unreasonable, 
Ruth ;  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  enjoy 
every  function  in  our  circle,  and  Louis  is  always  happy 
to  take  you.  When  he  asked  you  if  you  would  go 
with  him  to  the  Art  Exhibition  on  Friday  night,  I 
heard  you  say  you  did  not  know.  Now  why?  " 


'.&  OP 

1 


70  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Oh,  that?  I  never  gave  it  a  second's  thought. 
I  promised  Father  to  go  with  him  in  the  afternoon ;  I 
did  not  consider  it  worth  an  explanation." 

"  But,  you  see,  I  did.  It  looks  very  queer  for 
Louis  to  be  travelling  around  by  himself;  couldn't 
you  go  again  in  the  evening  with  him?" 

"  Of  course,  you  over-thoughtful  aunt.  If  the  pic- 
tures are  good,  a  second  visit  will  not  be  thrown 
away,  —  that  is,  if  Louis  is  really  anxious  for  my  com- 
panionship. But,  « I  doubt  it,  I  doubt  it,  I  do.'  " 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  returned  her  mother,  some- 
what testily.  "  Why  should  n't  he  be  ?  You  are  al- 
ways amiable  together,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  knitting  her  brows  and  pursing 
her  lips  drolly,  "  that,  methinks,  depends  on  the 
limits  and  requirements  of  amiability.  If  disputation 
showeth  a  friendly  spirit,  then  is  my  lord  overfriendly  ; 
for  it  oft  hath  seemed  of  late  to  pleasure  his  mood  to 
wax  disputatious,  though,  in  sooth,  lady  fair,  I  have 
always  maintained  a  wary  and  decorous  demeanor." 

"  I  can  imagine,"  laughed  her  mother,  a  little 
anxiously ;  "  then  you  will  go  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

If  Arnold  really  cared  for  the  outcome  of  such 
manoeuvres,  Mrs.  Levice's  exertions  bore  some 
fruit. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  7 1 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

are  few  communities,  comparatively 
speaking,  with  more  enthusiastic  theatre-lovers 
than  are  to  be  found  in  San  Francisco.  The  play  was 
one  of  the  few  worldly  pleasures  that  Mr.  Levice 
thoroughly  enjoyed.  When  a  great  star  was  heralded, 
he  was  in  a  feverish  delight  until  it  had  come  and 
gone.  When  Bernhardt  appeared,  the  quiet  little 
man  fully  earned  the  often  indiscriminately  applied 
title  of  "  crazy  Frenchman."  A  Frenchman  is  never 
so  much  one  as  when  confronted  in  a  foreign  land 
with  a  great  French  creation ;  every  fibre  in  his  body 
answers  each  charm  with  an  appreciation  worked  to 
fever-heat  by  patriotic  love ;  at  such  times  the  play 
of  his  emotions  precludes  any  idea  of  reason  to  an 
onlooker.  Bernhardt  was  one  of  Levice's  passions. 
Booth  was  another,  though  he  took  him  more 
composedly.  The  first  time  the  latter  appeared  at 
the  Baldwin  (his  opening  play  was  "  Hamlet  ")  the 
Levices  —  that  is,  Ruth  and  her  father  —  went  three 
times  in  succession  to  witness  his  matchless  per- 
formance, and  every  succeeding  characterization  but 
strengthened  their  enthusiasm. 

Booth  was  coming  again.  The  announcement  had 
been  rapturously  hailed  by  the  Levices. 

"  It  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  go  together,  Father," 
Ruth  remarked  at  the  breakfast-table.  "  Louis  will 


72  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL, 

have  to  take  me  on  alternate  nights,  while  you  stay 
at  home  with  Mamma;  did  you  hear,  Louis?" 

"You  will  hardly  need  to  do  that,"  answered 
Arnold,  lowering  his  cup ;  "  if  you  and  your  father 
prefer  going  together,  I  shall  enjoy  staying  with  your 
mother  on  those  nights." 

"  Thanks  for  the  offer  —  and  your  evident  delight 
in  my  company,"  laughed  Ruth;  "but  there  is  one 
play  at  which  you  must  submit  to  the  infliction  of  my 
presence.  Don't  you  remember  we  always  wished  to 
see  the  '  Merchant  of  Venice '  and  judge  for  our- 
selves his  interpretation  of  the  character?  Well,  I 
am  determined  that  we  shall  see  it  together." 

"When  does  he  play  it?" 

"  A  week  from  Saturday  night." 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  shall  be  out  of 
town  at  the  end  of  next  week." 

"Oh  dear?  Honestly?  Can't  you  put  it  off  ?  I 
want  so  much  to  go." 

"  Impossible.     Go  with  your  father." 

"  You  know  very  well  neither  of  us  would  go  off 
and  leave  Mamma  alone  at  night.  It  is  horrid  of 
you  to  go.  I  am  sure  you  could  manage  differently 
if—" 

"  Why,  my  child  !  " 

She  was  actually  pouting;  and  her  father's  quiet 
tone  of  surprised  reprimand  just  headed  off  two  great 
tears  that  threatened  to  fall. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  and  showing  an 
April  face  instead ;  "  but  I  had  just  set  my  heart  on 
going,  and  with  Louis  too." 

"That  comes  of  being  a  spoilt  only  child,"  put  in 
Arnold,  suavely.  "  You  ought  to  know  by  this  time 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  73 

that  of  the  many  plans  we  make  with  ourselves,  nine 
out  of  ten  come  to  nought.  Before  you  set  your 
heart  on  a  thing,  be  sure  you  will  not  have  to  give  it 
up." 

Ruth,  still  sore  with  disappointment,  acknowledged 
this  philosophic  remark  with  a  curled  lip. 

"  There,  save  your  tears  for  something  more 
worthy,"  cut  in  Levice,  briskly;  "  if  you  care  so  much 
about  it,  we  or  chance  must  arrange  it  as  you  wish." 

But  chance  in  this  instance  was  not  propitious. 
Wednesday  came,  and  Arnold  saw  no  way  of  accom- 
modating her.  He  left  town  after  taking  her  to  see 
the  "  Fool's  Revenge  "  as  a  sort  of  substitution. 

"  You  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  poor  Fool's 
troubles  last  night,"  observed  Dr.  Kemp,  in  the 
morning;  they  were  still  standing  in  Mrs.  Levice's 
room. 

"  I  ?  Not  enjoying  his  troubles  ;  I  enjoyed  Booth, 
though, — if  you  can  call  it  enjoyment  when  your 
heart  is  ready  to  break  for  him.  Were  you  there? 
I  did  not  see  you." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  did,  or  you  would  have 
been  in  the  pitiable  condition  of  the  princess  who 
had  her  head  turned.  I  sat  directly  back  of  your 
box,  in  the  dress-circle.  Then  you  like  Booth  ?  " 

"  Take  care  !  that  is  a  dangerous  subject  with  my 
family,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Levice.  "  Ruth  has  actually 
exhausted  every  adjective  in  her  admiration  vocabu- 
lary. The  last  extravaganza  I  heard  from  hei  on  that 
theme  was  after  she  had  seen  him  as  Brutus;  she 
wished  herself  Lucius,  that  in  the  tent  scene  she 
might  kiss  Booth's  hand." 

"  It  sounds  gushing  enough  for  a  school-girl  now," 


74  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

laughed  Ruth  merrily,  looking  up  at  the  doctor;  "but 
at  the  time  I  meant  it." 

"Have  you  seen  him  in  all  his  impersonations?" 
he  asked. 

"  In  everything  but  <  Shylock.'  " 

"You  will  have  a  chance  for  that  on  Saturday 
night.  It  will  be  a  great  farewell  performance." 

"  Undoubtedly,  but  I  shall  have  to  forego  that  last 
glimpse  of  him." 

"Now,  Doctor,"  cried  Mrs.  Levice,  "will  you 
please  impress  it  on  her  that  I  am  not  a  lunatic  and 
can  be  left  alone  without  fear?  She  wishes  to  go 
Saturday  night,  but  refuses  to  go  with  her  father  on 
the  ground  that  I  shall  be  left  alone,  as  Mr.  Arnold 
is  out  of  town.  Is  not  that  being  unnecessarily 
solicitous?  " 

"Without  doubt.  But,"  he  added,  turning  defer- 
entially to  Ruth,  "in  lieu  of  a  better  escort,  how 
would  I  do,  Miss  Levice?" 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  Saturday  night  to  see 
'  Shylock '  ?  " 

To  be  candid,  Ruth  was  embarrassed.  The  doctor 
had  said  neither  "  will  you  honor  me  "  nor  "will  you 
please  me,"  but  he  had  both  pleased  and  honored 
her.  She  turned  a  pair  of  radiant  eyes  to  her  mother. 
"  Come  now,  Mrs.  Levice,"  laughed  Kemp,  noting 
the  action,  "  will  you  allow  your  little  girl  to  go  with 
me  ?  Do  not  detain  me  with  a  refusal ;  it  will  be 
impossible  to  accept  one  now,  and  I  shall  not  be 
around  till  then,  you  know.  Good-morning." 

Unwittingly,  the  doctor  had  caused  an  excitement 
in  the  hearts  both  of  mother  and  daughter.  The 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL.  ?$ 

latter  was  naturally  surprised  at  his  unexpected  invi- 
tation, but  surprise  was  soon  obliterated  by  another 
and  quite  a  different  feeling,  which  she  kept  rigor- 
ously to  herself.  Mrs.  Levice  was  in  a  dilemma  about 
it,  and  consulted  her  husband  in  the  evening. 

"  By  all  means,  let  her  go,"  replied  he  ;  "  why  should 
you  have  had  any  misgivings  about  it?  I  am  sure  I 
am  glad  she  is  going." 

"But,  Jules,  you  forget  that  none  of  our  Jewish 
friends  allow  their  girls  to  go  out  with  strangers." 

"  Is  that  part  of  our  religion?  " 

"  No  ;  but  custom  is  in  itself  a  religion.  People  do 
talk  so  at  every  little  innovation  against  convention." 

"  What  will  they  say  ?  Nothing  detrimental  either 
to  Ruth  or  the  doctor.  Pshaw,  Esther  !  you  ought  to 
feel  proud  that  Dr.  Kemp  has  asked  the  child.  If 
she  wishes  to  go,  don't  set  an  impossible  bogy  in  the 
way  of  her  enjoyment.  Besides,  you  do  not  care  to 
appear  so  silly  as  you  would  if  you  said  to  the  doctor, 
'  I  can't  let  her  go  on  account  of  people's  tongues,' 
and  that  is  the  only  honest  excuse  you  can  offer." 
So  in  his  manly,  practical  way  he  decided  it. 

On  Saturday  night  Ruth  stood  in  the  drawing-room 
buttoning  her  pale  suede  glove.  Kemp  had  not  yet 
come  in.  She  looked  unusually  well  in  her  dull  sage- 
green  gown.  A  tiny  toque  of  the  same  color  rested 
on  her  soft  dark  hair.  The  creamy  pallor  of  her 
face,  the  firm  white  throat  revealed  by  the  broad 
rolling  collar,  her  grave  lips  and  dreamy  eyes,  hardly 
told  that  she  was  feeling  a  little  shy.  Presently  the 
bell  rang,  and  Kemp  came  in,  his  open  topcoat  re- 
vealing his  evening  dress  beneath.  He  came  forward 
hastily. 


76  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  am  a  little  late,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  "  but 
it  was  unavoidable.  Ten  minutes  to  eight,"  looking 
at  his  watch;  "the  horses  must  make  good  time." 

"It  is  slightly  chilly  to-night,  is  it  not?"  asked 
Ruth,  for  want  of  something  better  to  say  as  she 
turned  for  her  wrap. 

"I  did  not  feel  it,"  he  replied,  intercepting  her. 
"  But  this  furry  thing  will  keep  the  cold  off,  if  there  is 
any,"  he  continued,  as  he  held  it  for  her,  and  quite 
unprofessionally  bent  his  head  to  hook  it  at  her 
throat.  A  strange  sensation  shot  through  Ruth  as 
his  face  approached  so  close  her  own. 

"How  are  your  mother  and  father?"  he  asked, 
holding  the  door  open,  while  she  turned  for  her  fan, 
thus  concealing  a  slight  embarrassment. 

"They  are  as  usual,"  she  answered.  "Father  ex- 
pects to  see  you  after  the  play.  You  will  come  in  for 
a  little  supper,  will  you  not?  " 

"That  sounds  alluring,"  he  responded  lightly,  his 
quick  eye  remarking,  as  she  came  toward  him,  the 
dainty  femininity  of  her  loveliness,  that  seemed  to 
have  caught  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art. 

It  thus  happened  that  they  took  their  places  just  as 
the  curtain  rose. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  77 


CHAPTER   IX. 

T^VERYBODY  remembers  the  sad  old  comedy,  as 
JL_J  differently  interpreted  in  its  graver  sentiment  as 
there  are  different  interpreters.  Ruth  had  seen  one 
who  made  of  Shylock  merely  a  fawning,  mercenary, 
loveless,  blood-thirsty  wretch.  She  had  seen  another 
who  presented  a  man  of  quick  wit,  ready  tongue, 
great  dignity,  greater  vengeance,  silent  of  love, 
wordy  of  hate.  Booth,  without  throwing  any  roman- 
tic glamour  on  the  Jew,  showed  him  as  God  and 
man,  but  mostly  man,  had  made  him  :  an  old  Jew, 
grown  bitter  in  the  world's  disfavor  through  fault  of 
race ;  grown  old  in  strife  for  the  only  worldly  power 
vouchsafed  him,  —  gold ;  grown  old  with  but  one 
human  love  to  lighten  his  hard  existence ;  a  man 
who,  at  length,  shorn  of  his  two  loves  through  the 
same  medium  that  robbed  him  of  his  manly  birth- 
right, now  turned  fiend,  endeavors  with  tooth  and 
nail  to  wreak  the  smouldering  vengeance  of  a  lifetime 
upon  the  chance  representative  of  an  inexorable 
persecution. 

All  through  the  performance  Ruth  sat  a  silent, 
attentive  listener.  Kemp,  with  his  ready  laugh  at 
Gratiano's  sallies,  would  turn  a  quick  look  at  her  for 
sympathy ;  he  was  rather  surprised  at  the  grave,  un- 
smiling face  beside  him.  When,  however,  the  old 
Jew  staggered  alone  and  almost  blindly  from  the  tri- 


7$  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

umphantly  smiling  court-room,  a  little  pinch  on  his 
arm  decidedly  startled  him. 

He  lowered  his  glass  and  turned  round  on  her  so 
suddenly  that  Ruth  started. 

"  Oh,"  she  faltered,  "  I  —  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  had 
forgotten  you  were  not  Louis." 

"  I  do  not  mind  in  the  least,"  he  assured  her 
easily. 

The  last  act  passes  merrily  and  quickly ;  only  the 
severe,  great  things  of  life  move  slowly. 

As  the  doctor  and  Ruth  made  their  way  through 
the  crowded  lobby,  the  latter  thought  she  had  never 
seen  so  many  acquaintances,  each  of  whom  turned  an 
interested  look  at  her  stalwart  escort.  Of  this  she 
was  perfectly  aware,  but  the  same  human  interest 
with  which  Kemp's  acquaintances  regarded  her 
passed  by  her  unnoticed. 

A  moment  later  they  were  in  the  fresh,  open  air. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is!"  said  Ruth,  looking  up  at 
the  stars.  "The  wind  has  entirely  died  away." 

"'On  such  a  night,'"  quoth  Kemp,  as  they 
approached  the  curb,  "  a  closed  carriage  seems  out 
of  season." 

"  And  reason,"  supplemented  Ruth,  while  the 
doctor  opened  the  door  rather  slowly.  She  glanced 
at  him  hesitatingly. 

"Would  you  —  "  she  began. 

"  Right !     I  would  !  "     The  door  was  banged  to. 

"John,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  his  man  in  the  box, 
"  take  this  trap  round  to  the  stable ;  I  shall  not  need 
the  horses  again  to-night." 

John  touched  his  hat,  and  Kemp  drew  his  com- 
panion's little  hand  through  his  arm. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  79 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  they  turned  the  corner,  "  were 
you  satisfied  with  the  great  man  to-night?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  meditatively,  "  fully ;  there  was 
no  exaggeration,  — it  was  all  quite  natural." 

"  Except  Jessica  in  boy's  clothes." 

"  Don't  mention  her,  please ;  I  detest  her." 

"  And  yet  she  spoke  quite  prettily  on  the  night." 

"  I  did  not  hear  her." 

"  Why,  where  were  you  while  all  the  world  was 
making  merry  on  the  stage?" 

"  Not  with  them ;  I  was  with  the  weary,  heart- 
broken old  man  who  passed  out  when  joy  began." 

"  Ah !  I  fancied  you  did  not  half  appreciate 
Gratiano's  jesting.  Miss  Levice,  I  am  afraid  you 
allow  the  sorry  things  of  life  to  take  too  strong  a  hold 
on  you.  It  is  not  right.  I  assure  you  for  every  tear 
there  is  a  laugh,  and  you  must  learn  to  forget  the 
former  in  the  latter." 

"I  am  sorry,"  replied  Ruth,  quite  sadly;  "but  I 
fear  I  cannot  learn  that,  —  tears  are  always  stronger 
than  laughter.  How  could  I  listen  to  the  others' 
nonsense  when  my  heart  was  sobbing  with  that  lonely 
old  man?  Forgive  me,  but  I  cannot  forget  him." 

They  walked  along  silently  for  some  time.  In- 
stinctively, each  felt  the  perfect  accord  with  which 
they  kept  step.  Ruth's  little  ear  was  just  about  on  a 
level  with  the  doctor's  chin.  He  hardly  felt  the  soft 
touch  of  her  hand  upon  his  sleeve ;  but  as  he  looked 
at  the  white  profile  of  her  cheek  against  the  dark  fur 
of  her  collar,  the  knowledge  that  she  was  there  was  a 
pleasing  one. 

"  Did  you  consider  the  length  of  our  walk  when 
you  fell  in  with  my  desire?"  he  asked  presently. 


8O  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  like  a  long  walk  in  pleasant  weather ;  I  never 
tire  of  walking." 

"You  have  found  the  essentials  of  a  good  pedes- 
trian,—  health  and  strength." 

"Yes;  if  everybody  were  like  me,  all  your  skill 
would  be  thrown  away,  —  I  am  never  ill." 

"  Apparently  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be, 
with  common-sense  to  back  your  blessings.  If  com- 
mon-sense could  be  bought  at  the  drug-store,  I  should 
be  rid  of  a  great  many  patients." 

"That  reminds  me  of  a  snatch  of  conversation  I 
once  overheard  between  my  mother  and  a  doctor's 
wife.  I  am  reminded  of  it  because  the  spirit  of 
your  meaning  is  diametrically  opposed  to  her  own. 
After  some  talk  my  mother  asked,  *  And  how  is  the 
doctor  ? '  '  Oh,'  replied  her  visitor,  with  a  long  sigh, 
'  he  's  well  enough  in  body,  but  he  's  blue,  terribly 
blue ;  everybody  is  so  well,  you  know.'  " 

"  Her  sentiment  was  more  human  than  humane," 
laughed  Kemp.  He  was  glad  to  see  that  she  had 
roused  herself  from  her  sad  musings  ;  but  a  certain  set 
purpose  he  had  formed  robbed  him  now  of  his  former 
lightness  of  manner. 

He  was  about  to  broach  a  subject  that  required 
delicate  handling ;  but  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  the 
womanly  character  of  the  young  girl  aided  him  much. 
It  was  not  so  much  what  he  had  seen  her  do  as 
what  he  knew  she  was,  that  led  him  to  begin  his 
recital. 

"We  have  a  good  many  blocks  before  us  yet,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  little  story.  Why 
don't  you  take  the  full  benefit  of  my  arm?  There," 
he  proceeded,  drawing  her  hand  farther  through  his 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  8 1 

arm,  "  now  you  feel  more  like  a  big  girl  than  like  a  bit 
of  thistledown.  If  I  get  tiresome,  just  call  '  time,'  will 
you?" 

"All  right,"  she  laughed.  She  was  beginning  to 
meet  halfway  this  matter-of-fact,  unadorned,  friendly 
manner  of  his ;  and  when  she  did  meet  it,  she  felt  a 
comfortable  security  in  it.  From  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  his  short  narrative  he  looked  straight  ahead. 

"  How  shall  I  begin  ?  Do  you  like  fairy  tales  ? 
Well,  this  is  the  soul  of  one  without  the  fictional 
wings.  Once  upon  a  time,  —  I  think  that  is  the  very 
best  introduction  extant,  —  a  woman  was  left  a  widow 
with  one  little  girl.  She  lived  in  New  Orleans,  where 
the  blow  of  her  husband's  death  and  the  loss  of  her 
good  fortune  came  almost  simultaneously.  She  must 
have  had  little  moral  courage,  for  as  soon  as  she 
could,  she  left  her  home,  not  being  able  to  bear  the 
inevitable  falling  off  of  friends  that  follows  loss  of 
fortune.  She  wandered  over  the  intermediate  States 
between  here  and  Louisiana,  stopping  nowhere  long, 
but  endeavoring  to  keep  together  the  bodies  and  souls 
of  herself  and  child  by  teaching.  They  kept  this  up 
for  years  until  the  mother  succumbed.  They  were 
on  the  way  from  Nevada  to  Los  Angeles  when  she 
died.  The  daughter,  then  not  eighteen,  went  on  to 
Los  Angeles,  where  she  buried  her  mother,  and  en- 
deavored to  continue  teaching  as  she  had  been  doing. 
She  was  young,  unsophisticated,  sad,  and  in  want  in  a 
strange  town.  She  applied  for  advice  to  a  man  highly 
honored  and  recommended  by  his  fellow- citizens. 
The  man  played  the  brute.  The  girl  fled  —  any- 
where. Had  she  been  less  brave,  she  would  have 
fled  from  herself.  She  came  to  San  Francisco  and 
6 


82  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

took  a  position  as  nurse-girl ;  children,  she  thought, 
could  not  play  her  false,  and  she  might  outlive  it. 
The  hope  was  cruel.  She  was  living  near  my  home, 
had  seen  my  sign  probably,  and  in  the  extremity  of 
her  distress  came  to  me.  There  is  a  good  woman 
who  keeps  a  lodging-house,  and  who  delights  in  doing 
me  favors.  I  left  the  poor  child  in  her  hands,  and 
she  is  now  fully  recovered.  As  a  physician  I  can  do 
no  more  for  her,  and  yet  melancholy  has  almost  made 
a  wreck  of  her.  Nothing  I  say  has  any  effect;  all 
she  answers  is,  '  It  is  n't  worth  while.'  I  understand 
her  perfectly,  but  I  wished  to  infuse  into  her  some  of 
her  old  spirit  of  independence.  This  morning  I 
asked  her  if  she  intended  to  let  herself  drift  on  in  this 
way.  I  may  have  spoken  a  little  more  harshly  than 
necessary,  for  my  words  broke  down  completely  the 
wall  of  dogged  silence  she  had  built  around  herself. 
'  Oh,  sir,'  she  cried,  weeping  like  the  child  she  is,  '  what 
can  I  do?  Can  I  dare  to  take  little  children  by  the 
hand,  stained  as  I  am  ?  Can  I  go  as  an  impostor  where, 
if  people  knew,  they  would  snatch  their  loved  ones 
from  me  ?  Oh,  it  would  be  too  wretched  !  '  I  tried 
to  remonstrate  with  her,  told  her  that  the  lily  in  the 
dust  is  no  less  a  lily  than  is  her  spotless  sister  held 
high  above  contamination.  She  looked  at  me  mis- 
erably from  her  tear-stained  face,  and  then  said, 
'  Men  may  think  so,  but  women  don't ;  a  stain  with 
them  is  ignoble  whether  made  by  one's  self  or  another. 
No  woman  knowing  my  story  would  think  me  free 
from  dishonor,  and  hold  out  her  clean  hands  to  me.' 
*  Plenty,'  I  contradicted.  '  Maybe,'  she  said  hum- 
bly ;  '  but  what  would  it  mean  ?  The  hand  would  be 
held  out  at  arm's  length  by  women  safe  in  their 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  83 

position,  who  would  not  fail  to  show  me  how  de- 
based they  think  me.  I  am  young  yet;  can  you 
show  me  a  girl,  like  myself  in  years,  but  white  as 
snow,  kept  safe  from  contamination,  as  you  say,  who, 
knowing  my  story,  would  hold  out  her  hand  to  me 
and  not  feel  herself  besmirched  by  the  contact? 
Do  not  say  you  can,  for  I  know  you  cannot.'  She 
was  crying  so  violently  that  she  would  not  listen  to 
me.  When  I  left  her,  I  myself  could  think  of  none 
of  my  young  friends  to  whom  I  could  propound  the 
question.  I  know  many  sweet,  kind  girls,  but  I 
could  count  not  one  among  them  all  who  in  such  a 
case  would  be  brave  as  she  was  womanly  —  until  I 
thought  of  you." 

Complete  silence  followed  his  words.  He  did  not 
turn  his  glance  from  the  street  ahead  of  him.  He 
had  made  no  appeal,  would  make  none,  in  fact.  He 
had  told  the  story  with  scarcely  a  reflection  on  its 
impropriety,  that  would  have  arrested  another  man 
from  introducing  such  an  element  into  his  gentle 
fellowship  with  a  girl  like  Ruth.  His  lack  of  hesi- 
tancy was  born  of  his  manly  view  of  the  outcast's 
blamelessness,  of  her  dire  necessity  for  help,  and  of  a 
premonition  that  Ruth  Levice  would  be  as  free  from 
the  artificiality  of  conventional  surface  modesty  as 
was  he,  through  the  earnestness  of  the  undertaking. 

There  is  something  very  sweet  to  a  woman  in  be- 
ing singled  out  by  a  man  for  some  ennobling  virtue. 
Ruth  felt  this  so  strongly  that  she  could  almost  hear 
her  heart  beat  with  the  intoxicating  knowledge.  No 
question  had  been  asked,  but  she  felt  an  answer  was 
expected.  Yet  had  her  life  depended  on  it,  the 
words  could  not  have  come  at  that  moment.  Was 


84  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

she  indeed  what  he  esteemed  her?  Unconsciously 
Dr.  Kemp  had,  in  thought,  placed  her  on  a  ped- 
estal. Did  she  deserve  the  high  place  he  had  given 
her,  or  would  she  ? 

With  many  women  the  question  would  have  been, 
did  she  care  for  Dr.  Kemp's  good  opinion?  Now, 
though  Ruth  was  indeed  put  on  her  mettle,  her  quick 
sympathy  had  been  instantly  touched  by  the  girl's 
miserable  story.  Perhaps  the  doctor's  own  feelings 
had  influenced  her,  but  had  the  girl  stood  before  her 
at  the  moment,  she  would  have  seized  her  hand  with 
all  her  own  gentle  nobility  of  soul. 

As  they  turned  the  corner  of  the  block  where 
Ruth's  house  stood,  Kemp  said  deliberately,  — 

"Well?" 

"  I  thank  you.     Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

Her  quiet,  natural  tone  told  nothing  of  the  tumult  of 
sweet  thoughts  within.  They  had  reached  the  house, 
and  the  doctor  opened  the  gate  before  he  answered. 
When  he  did,  after  they  had  passed  through,  he  took 
both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  I  shall  take  you  there,"  he  said,  looking  down  at 
her  with  grave,  smiling  eyes  ;  "  I  knew  you  would  not 
fail  me.  When  shall  I  call  for  you?  " 

"  Do  not  call  for  me  at  all ;  I  think  —  I  know  it 
will  be  better  for  me  to  walk  in  alone,  as  of  my 
own  accord." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  he  said,  and  told  her  the  address.  She 
ran  lightly  up  the  steps,  and  as  he  turned  her  key  in 
the  door  for  her,  she  raised  a  pair  of  starry  eyes 
to  his. 

"  Dr.  Kemp,"  she  said,  "  I  have  had  an  exception- 
ally lovely  evening.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  it." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  85 

"  Nor  I,"  he  returned,  raising  his  hat ;  holding  it 
in  his  hand,  he  gently  raised  her  gloved  hand  to  his 
lips.  Herbert  Kemp  was  a  gentleman  of  the  old 
school  in  his  manner  of  showing  reverence  to 
women. 

"  My  brave  young  friend  !  "  he  said ;  and  the  next 
minute  his  firm  footfall  was  crunching  the  gravel  of 
the  walk.  Neither  of  them  had  remembered  that 
he  was  to  have  come  in  with  her.  She  waited  till 
the  gate  clicked  behind  him,  and  then  softly  closed 
the  heavy  door. 

"  My  brave  young  friend  !  "  The  words  mounted 
like  wine  to  her  head.  She  forgot  her  surroundings 
and  stood  in  a  sweet  dream  in  the  hall,  slowly  un- 
buttoning her  glove.  She  must  have  remained  in 
this  attitude  for  five  minutes,  when,  raising  her  eyes, 
still  shadowy  with  thought,  she  saw  her  cousin  before 
her  down  the  hall,  his  arm  resting  on  the  newel-post. 

"  Louis  !  "  she  cried  in  surprise  ;  and  without  con- 
sidering, she  hurried  to  him,  threw  her  arm  around 
his  neck,  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek.  Arnold, 
taken  by  storm,  stepped  slightly  back. 

"When  did  you  get  home?  "  she  asked,  the  pale 
rose-flush  that  mantled  her  cheeks  making  her  face 
exquisite. 

"  A  half  an  hour  ago." 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"Are  you  tired,  Louis?"  she  inquired  gently. 
"You  are  somewhat  pale,  and  you  speak  in  that 
way." 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  play?"  he  asked  quietly, 
passing  by  her  remarks. 

"The  play  !  "  she  echoed,  and  then  a  quick  burn- 


86  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

ing  blush  suffused  her  face.  The  epilogue  had  wholly 
obliterated  the  play  from  her  recollection. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  responded,  turning  from  the 
rather  sardonic  smile  of  his  lips  and  seating  herself 
on  the  stairs ;  "  do  you  want  to  hear  about  it  now?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,"  she  began,  laying  her  gloves  in  her  lap 
and  snuggling  her  chin  in  the  palms  of  her  hands, 
"  shall  I  tell  you  how  I  felt  about  it  ?  In  the  first 
place,  I  was  not  ashamed  of  Shylock;  if  his  ven- 
geance was  distorted,  the  cause  distorted  it.  But,  oh, 
Louis,  the  misery  of  that  poor  old  man  !  After  all, 
his  punishment  was  as  fiendish  as  his  guilt.  Booth 
was  great.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  play  of 
his  wonderful  eyebrow  and  the  eloquence  of  his  fine 
hand.  Poor  old,  lonely  Shylock  !  With  all  his  in- 
tellect, how  could  he  regret  that  wretched  little 
Jessica?" 

"  He  was  a  Jewish  father." 

"  How  singularly  you  say  that !  Of  course  he  was 
a  Jew ;  but  Jewish  hardly  describes  him,  —  at  least, 
according  to  the  modern  idea.  Are  you  coming 
up?" 

"  Yes.     Go  on;  I  will  lower  the  gas." 

"  Would  n't  you  like  something  to  eat  or  drink  ? 
You  look  so  worn  out ;  let  me  get  you  something." 

"  Thanks ;  I  have  dined.  Good-night."  The  girl 
passed  on  to  her  pretty  white  and  gold  room.  Shy- 
lock  had  again  fled  from  her  memory,  but  there  was 
singing  in  her  heart  a  deep,  grave  voice  saying,  — 

"  My  brave  young  friend  !  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  87 


CHAPTER  X. 

"    A      HUMBLE  bard  presents  his  respects  to  my 

ji\.  Lady  Mare"chal  Niel,  and  begs  her  to  step 
down  to  the  gate  for  about  two  minutes." 

The  note  was  handed  to  Ruth  early  the  next 
morning  as  she  stood  in  the  kitchen  beating  up  eggs 
for  an  omelette  for  her  mother's  breakfast.  A  smile 
of  mingled  surprise  and  amusement  overspread  her 
face  as  she  read ;  instinctively  turning  the  card,  she 
saw,  "  Herbert  Kemp,  M.  D.,"  in  simple  lithograph. 

"  Do  I  look  all  right,  Mary?  "  she  asked  hurriedly, 
placing  the  bowl  on  the  table  and  half  turning  to  the 
cook  as  she  walked  to  the  door.  Mary  deliberately 
placed  both  hands  on  her  hips  and  eyed  her  sharply. 

"  And  striped  flannel  dresses  and  hairs  in  braids," 
she  began,  as  she  always  did,  as  if  continuing  a 
thought,  "  being  nice,  pretty  flannel  and  nice,  pretty 
braids,  Miss  Ruth  do  look  sweet-like,  which  is  noth- 
ing out  of  the  common,  for  she  always  do  !  " 

The  last  was  almost  shouted  after  Ruth,  who  had 
run  from  the  cook's  prolixity. 

As  she  hurried  down  the  walk,  she  recognized  the 
doctor's  carriage,  containing  the  doctor  himself  with 
Bob  in  state  beside  him.  Two  hands  went  up  to  two 
respective  hats  as  the  gate  swung  behind  her,  and 
she  advanced  with  hand  extended  to  Bob. 


88  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"You  are  looking  much  better,"  she  exclaimed 
heartily,  shaking  the  rather  bashfully  outstretched 
hand;  "your  first  outing,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,  lady."  It  had  been  impossible  for  her  to 
make  him  call  her  by  name. 

"  He  elected  to  pay  his  first  devoirs  to  the  Queen 
of  Roses,  as  he  expressed  it,"  spoke  up  Kemp,  with 
his  disengaged  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  look- 
ing with  a  puzzled  expression  at  Ruth.  Last  night 
she  had  been  a  young  woman ;  this  morning  she 
was  a  young  girl ;  it  was  only  after  he  had  driven  off 
that  he  discovered  the  cause  lay  in  the  arrangement 
of  her  hair. 

"  Thank  you,  Bob ;  presently  I  expect  to  have  you 
paying  me  a  visit  on  foot,  when  we  can  come  to  a 
clearer  understanding  about  my  flower-beds." 

"  He  says,"  returned  the  boy,  turning  an  almost 
humbly  devoted  look  on  Kemp,  "  that  I  must  not 
think  of  gardening  for  some  weeks.  And  so  —  and 
so  —  " 

"Yes?" 

"  And  so,"  explained  the  doctor,  briskly,  "  he  is 
going  to  hold  my  reins  on  our  rounds,  and  imbibe 
a  world  of  sunshine  to  expend  on  some  flowers  — 
yours  or  mine,  perhaps  —  by  and  by." 

Bob's  eyes  were  luminous  with  feeling  as  they 
rested  on  the  dark,  bearded  face  of  his  benefactor. 

"Now  say  all  you  have  to  say,  and  we  '11  be  off," 
said  Kemp,  tucking  in  the  robe  at  Bob's  side. 

"  I  did  n't  have  anything  to  say,  sir ;  I  came  only 
to  let  her  know." 

"And  I  am  so  glad,  Bob,"  said  Ruth,  smiling  up 
into  the  boy's  shy,  speaking  eyes.  People  always 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  89 

will  try  to  add  to  the  comfort  of  a  convalescent,  and 
Ruth,  in  turn,  drew  down  the  robe  over  the  lad's 
hands.  As  she  did  so,  her  cousin,  Jennie  Lewis, 
passed  hurriedly  by.  Her  quick  blue  eyes  took  in  to 
a  detail  the  attitudes  of  the  trio. 

"Good-morning,  Jennie,"  said  Ruth,  turning ;  "are 
you  coming  in?" 

"  Not  now,"  bowing  stiffly  and  hurrying  on. 

"Cabbage-rose." 

Bob  delivered  himself  of  this  sentiment  as  gently 
as  if  he  had  let  fall  a  pearl. 

The  doctor  gave  a  quick  look  at  Ruth,  which  she 
met,  smiling. 

"  He  cannot  help  his  inspirations,"  she  remarked 
easily,  and  stepped  back  as  the  doctor  pulled  the 
reins. 

"  Come  again,  Bob,"  she  called,  and  with  a  smile 
to  Kemp  she  ran  in. 

"  And  I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  Mary,  as  she 
re-entered  the  kitchen,  "  that  a  speck  of  aig  splashed 
on  your  cheek,  Miss  Ruth." 

"Oh,  Mary,  where?" 

"  But  not  knowin'  that  you  would  see  anybody,  I 
did  n't  think  to  run  after  you ;  so  it 's  just  this  side 
your  mouth,  like  if  you  had  n't  wiped  it  good  after 
breakfast." 

Ruth  rubbed  it  off,  wondering  with  vexation  if  the 
doctor  had  noticed  it.  Truth  to  say,  the  doctor  had 
noticed  it,  and  naturally  placed  the  same  passing 
construction  on  it  that  Mary  had  suggested.  Not 
that  the  little  yellow  splash  occupied  much  of  his 
attention.  When  he  drove  off,  all  he  thought  of 
Ruth's  appearance  was  that  her  braided  hair  hung 


90  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

gracefully  and  heavily  down  her  back  ;  that  she  looked 
young,  —  decidedly  young  and  missish  ;  and  that  he 
had  probably  spoken  indiscreetly  and  impulsively 
to  the  wrong  person  on  a  wrong  subject  the  night 
before. 

Dress  has  a  subtile  influence  upon  our  actions  :  one 
gown  can  make  a  romp,  another  a  princess,  another 
a  boor,  another  a  sparkling  coquette,  out  of  the  same 
woman.  The  female  mood  is  susceptibly  sympathetic 
to  the  fitness  or  unfitness  of  dress.  Now,  Ruth  was 
without  doubt  the  same  girl  who  had  so  earnestly  and 
sympathetically  heard  the  doctor's  unconventional 
story ;  but  the  fashion  of  her  gown  had  changed  the 
impression  she  had  made  a  few  hours  back. 

An  hour  later,  and  Dr.  Kemp  could  not  have  failed 
to  recognize  Ruth,  the  woman  of  his  confidence. 
Something,  perhaps  a  dormant  spirit  of  worldliness, 
kept  her  from  disclosing  to  her  mother  the  reason  of 
her  going  out.  She  herself  felt  no  shame  or  doubt 
as  to  the  advisability  of  her  action ;  but  the  certain 
knowledge  of  her  mother's  disapproval  of  such  a  pro- 
ceeding restrained  the  disclosure  which,  of  a  surety, 
would  have  cost  her  the  non-fulfilment  of  a  kindly 
act.  A  bit  of  subterfuge  which  hurts  no  one  is  often 
not  only  excusable,  but  commendable.  Besides,  it 
saved  her  mother  an  annoying  controversy ;  and  so, 
fully  satisfied  as  to  her  part,  Ruth  took  her  way  down 
the  street.  The  question  as  to  whether  the  doctor 
had  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  their  brief  acquaint- 
ance had  of  course  been  presented  to  her  mind ; 
but  if  a  slight  flush  came  into  her  face  when  she 
remembered  the  nature  of  the  narrative  and  the  per- 
sonality of  the  narrator,  it  was  quickly  banished  by 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  91 

the  sweet  assurance  that  in  this  way  he  had  honored 
her  beyond  the  reach  of  current  flattery. 

A  certain  placid  strength  possessed  her  and  showed 
in  her  grave  brown  eyes ;  with  her  whole  heart  and 
soul  she  wished  to  do  this  thing,  and  she  longed  to  do 
it  well.  Her  purpose  robbed  her  of  every  trace  of 
nervousness ;  and  it  was  a  sweet-faced  young  woman 
who  gently  knocked  at  room  Number  10  on  the 
second  floor  of  a  respectable  lodging-house  on  Polk 
Street. 

Receiving  no  answer  to  her  knock,  she  repeated  it 
somewhat  more  loudly.  At  this  a  tired  voice  called, 
"  Come  in." 

She  turned  the  knob,  which  yielded  to  her  touch, 
and  found  herself  in  a  small,  well-lighted,  and  neat 
room.  Seated  in  an  armchair  near  the  window,  but 
with  her  back  toward  it,  was  what  on  first  view  ap- 
peared to  be  a  golden-haired  child  in  black ;  one 
elbow  rested  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  a  childish 
hand  supported  the  flower-like  head.  As  Ruth  hesi- 
tated after  closing  the  door  behind  her,  she  found  a 
pair  of  listless  violet  eyes  regarding  her  from  a  small 
white  face. 

"  Well?  "  queried  the  girl,  without  changing  her  po- 
sition except  to  allow  her  gaze  to  travel  to  the  floor. 

"You  are  Miss  Rose  Delano?"  said  Ruth,  as  she 
came  a  step  nearer. 

"What  of  that?"  asked  the  girl,  lifelessly,  her  dull 
eyes  wandering  everywhere  but  to  the  face  of  her 
strange  interlocutor. 

"  I  am  Ruth  Levice,  a  friend  of  Dr.  Kemp.  Will 
that  introduction  be  enough  to  make  you  shake 
hands  with  me?" 


92  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

She  advanced  toward  her,  holding  out  her  hand. 
A  burning  flame  shot  across  Rose  Delano's  face,  and 
she  shrank  farther  back  among  her  pillows. 

"  No,"  she  said,  putting  up  a  repellent  hand;  "  it 
is  not  enough.  Do  not  touch  me,  or  you  will  regret 
it.  You  must  not,  I  say."  She  arose  quickly  from 
her  chair  and  stood  at  bay,  regarding  Ruth.  The 
latter,  taller  than  she  by  head  and  shoulders,  looked 
down  at  her  smiling. 

"  I  know  no  reason  why  I  must  not,"  she  replied 
gently. 

"  You  do  not  know  me." 

"  No ;  but  I  know  of  you." 

"Then  why  did  you  come;  why  don't  you  go?" 
The  blue  eyes  looked  with  passionate  resentment 
at  her. 

"Because  I  have  come  to  see  you;  because  I 
wish  to  shake  hands  with  you." 

"Why?" 

"Why?" 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  do  that?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  to  be  your  friend.  May  we 
not  be  friends?  I  am  not  much  older  than  you,  I 
think." 

"  You  are  centuries  younger.  Who  sent  you  here  ? 
Dr.  Kemp?" 

"  No  one  sent  me  ;  I  came  of  my  own  free  will." 

"  Then  go  as  you  came." 

"  No." 

She  stood  gracefully  and  quietly  before  her.  Rose 
Delano  moved  farther  from  her,  as  if  to  escape  her 
grave  brown  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  doing,"  cried  the 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  93 

girl,  excitedly;  "have  you  no  father  or  mother,  no 
one  to  tell  you  what  a  girl  should  not  do?  " 

"  I  have  both  ;  but  I  have  also  a  friend,  —  Dr. 
Kemp." 

"  He  is  my  friend  too,"  affirmed  Rose,  tremulously. 

"  Then  we  have  one  good  thing  in  common ;  and 
since  he  is  my  friend  and  yours,  why  should  we  not 
be  friends?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  man,  and  you  are  a  woman.  He 
has  then  told  you  my  story?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  feel  yourself  unharmed  in  coming  here 
—  to  such  a  creature  as  I  ?  " 

"  I  feel  nothing  but  pity  for  you  ;  I  do  not  blame 
you.  But,  oh,  little  one,  I  do  so  grieve  for  you  be- 
cause you  won't  believe  that  the  world  is  not  all 
merciless.  Come,  give  me  your  hand." 

"  No,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  behind  her  and 
retreating  as  the  other  advanced  ;  "  go  away,  please. 
You  are  very  good,  but  you  are  very  foolish.  Bad  as 
I  am,  however,  I  shall  not  let  you  harm  yourself 
more  ;  leave  my  room,  please." 

"  Not  till  I  have  held  your  hands  in  mine." 

"  Stop  !  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  you  to  come  here  ; 
I  don't  want  your  friendship.  Can't  you  go  now,  or 
are  you  afraid  that  your  sweetheart  will  upbraid  you 
if  you  fail  to  carry  out  his  will  ?  " 

"  My  sweetheart  ?  "  she  asked  in  questioning  wonder. 

"  Yes ;  only  a  lover  could  make  a  girl  like  you  so 
forget  herself.  I  speak  of  Dr.  Kemp." 

"  But  he  is  not  my  lover,"  she  stated,  still  speak- 
ing gently,  but  with  a  pale  face  turned  to  her 
companion. 


94  OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL. 

"I —  I  —  beg  your  pardon,"  faltered  the  girl, 
humbly  drooping  her  head,  shamed  by  the  cold 
pride  in  her  tormentor's  face ;  "  but  why,  oh,  why, 
then,  won't  you  go?"  she  continued,  wildly  sobbing. 
"  I  assure  you  it  is  best." 

"  This  is  best,"  said  Ruth,  deliberately;  and  before 
Rose  knew  it  she  had  seized  her  two  hands,  and  un- 
clasping them  from  behind  her,  drew  them  to  her 
own  breast. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  holding  them  tightly,  "  who  is 
the  stronger,  you  or  I?"  She  looked  pleasantly 
down  at  the  tear-stained  face  so  close  to  hers. 

"O  God!"  breathed  the  girl,  her  storm-beaten 
eyes  held  by  the  power  of  her  captor's  calmness. 

"  Now  we  are  friends,"  said  Ruth,  softly,  "  shall  we 
sit  down  and  talk?  " 

Still  holding  the  slender  hands,  she  drew  up  a 
chair,  and  seating  the  frail  girl  in  the  armchair, 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  wait !  "  whispered  Rose ;  "  let  me  tell  you 
everything  before  you  make  me  live  again." 

"  I  know  everything  ;  and  truly,  Rose,  nothing  you 
can  say  could  make  me  wish  to  befriend  you  less." 

"  How  nobly,  how  kindly  he  must  have  told 
you  !  " 

"  Hush  !  He  told  me  nothing  but  the  truth.  To 
me  you  are  a  victim,  not  a  culprit.  And  now,  tell 
me,  do  you  feel  perfectly  strong?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."  The  little  hand  swept  in  agony  over 
her  sad,  childish  face. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  go  out  for  a  nice  walk.  You 
have  no  idea  how  pleasant  it  is  this  morning." 

"  I  can't,  indeed  I  can't !  and,  oh,  why  should  I  ?  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  95 

"  You  can  and  you  must,  because  you  must  go  to 
work  soon." 

Two  frightened  eyes  were  raised  to  hers. 

"  Yes,"  she  added,  patting  the  hand  she  held  ;  "  you 
are  a  teacher,  are  you  not?  " 

"  I  was,"  she  replied,  the  catch  in  her  voice  still 
audible. 

"What  are  you  used  to  teaching?  " 

"  Spanish,  and  English  literature." 

"Spanish  —  with  your  blue  eyes!"  The  sudden 
outburst  of  surprise  sent  a  faint  April-like  beam  into 
Rose's  face. 

"  Si,  senorita." 

"  Then  you  must  teach  me.  Let  me  see.  Wednes- 
days, —  Wednesday  afternoon,  yes?  " 

Again  the  frightened  eyes  appealed  to  her;  but 
Ruth  ignored  them. 

"  And  so  many  of  my  friends  would  like  to  speak 
Spanish.  Will  you  teach  them  too?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Levice,  how  can  I  go  with  such  a 
past?" 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Ruth,  proudly  rearing  her  head, 
"  if  I  introduce  you  as  my  friend,  you  are,  you  must 
be,  presentable." 

The  pale  lips  strove  to  answer  her. 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  come  with  a  number  of  names 
of  girls  who  are  '  dying,'  as  they  say,  to  speak  Spanish, 
and  then  you  can  go  and  make  arrangements  with 
them.  Will  you?" 

Thus  pushed  to  the  wall,  Rose's  tear-filled  eyes 
were  her  only  answer. 

Ruth's  own  filled  in  turn. 

"  Dear  little  Rose/'  she  said,  her  usual  sweet  voice 


Q  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

coming  back  to  her,  "  won't  it  be  lovely  to  do  this  ? 
You  will  feel  so  much  better  when  you  once  get  out  and 
are  earning  your  independent,  pleasant  living  again. 
And  now  will  you  forgive  me  for  having  been  so 
harsh?" 

"  Forgive  you  !  "  A  red  spot  glowed  on  each 
pallid  cheek;  she  raised  her  eyes  and  said  with 
simple  fervor,  "  I  would  die  for  you." 

"No,  but  you  may  live  for  me,"  laughed  Ruth, 
rising ;  "  will  you  promise  me  to  go  out  this  morning, 
just  for  a  block  or  two  ?  " 

"  I  promise  you." 

"Well,  then,  good-by."  She  held  out  her  hand 
meaningly ;  a  little  fluttering  one  was  placed  in  hers, 
and  Ruth  bent  and  kissed  the  wistful  mouth.  That 
pure  kiss  would  have  wiped  out  every  stain  from 
Rose's  worshipping  soul. 

"I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  surely,"  she  called 
back,  turning  a  radiant  face  to  the  lonely  little 
figure  in  the  doorway.  She  felt  deliriously  happy  as 
she  ran  down  the  stairs ;  her  eyes  shone  like  stars ; 
a  buoyant  joyfulness  spoke  in  her  step. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  be  happy  when  one  has  every- 
thing," she  mused.  She  forgot  to  add,  "  And  gives 
much."  There  is  so  much  happiness  derived  from  a 
kind  action  that  were  it  not  for  the  motive,  charity 
might  be  called  supreme  selfishness. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING    EQUAL.  97 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SHE  told  her  mother  in  a  few  words  at  luncheon 
that  she  had  arranged  to  take  Spanish  lessons 
from  a  young  protegee  of  Dr.  Kemp,  who  had  been 
ill  and  was  in  want. 

"And  I  was  thinking,"  she  added  with  naive 
policy,  "that  I  might  combine  a  little  business  with 
pleasure  this  afternoon,  —  pay  off  some  of  those  ever 
urgent  calls  you  accuse  me  of  outlawing,  and  at  the 
same  time  try  to  get  up  a  class  of  pupils  for  Miss 
Delano.  What  do  you  think?" 

"  That  would  be  nice ;  don't  forget  Mrs.  Bunker. 
I  know  you  don't  like  her,  but  you  must  pay  a  call 
for  the  musical  which  we  did  not  attend ;  and  she 
has  children  who  might  like  to  learn  Spanish.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  take  lessons  too ;  it  would  not  be 
exciting,  and  I  am  not  yet  so  old  but  I  may  learn." 

"You  might  ask  the  doctor.  He  has  almost  dis- 
missed himself  now ;  and  after  we  get  back  from  the 
country  perhaps  Jennie  would  join  us  two  in  a 
class.  Mother  and  daughter  can  then  go  to  school 
together." 

"  It  is  very  fortunate,"  Mrs.  Levice  observed 
pensively,  sipping  her  necessary  glass  of  port,  "  that 

C sent  your  hat  this  morning  to  wear  with  your 

new  gown.     Isn't  it?" 

7 


9$  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

11  Fortunate  !  "  Ruth  exclaimed,  laughing  banter- 
ingly;  "it  is  destiny." 

So  Mrs.  Levice  slipped  easily  into  Ruth's  plan  from 
a  social  standpoint,  and  Ruth  slipped  out,  trim  and 
graceful,  from  her  mother's  artistic  manipulations. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Levice  intended  writing  some  de- 
layed letters  till  her  husband's  return,  which  promised 
to  be  early  in  the  afternoon. 

She  had  just  about  settled  herself  at  her  desk  when 
Jennie  Lewis  came  bustling  in.  Mrs.  Lewis  always 
brought  in  a  sense  of  importance ;  one  looked  upon 
her  presence  with  that  exhilarating  feeling  with 
which  one  anticipates  the  latest  number  of  a  soci- 
ety journal. 

"  Go  right  on  with  your  writing,  Aunt  Esther,"  she 
said  after  they  had  exchanged  greetings.  "  I  have 
brought  my  work,  so  I  shall  not  mind  the  quiet  in  the 
least." 

"  As  if  I  would  bore  you  in  that  way  !  "  returned 
Mrs.  Levice,  with  a  laughing  glance  at  her,  as  she  closed 
her  desk.  "  Lay  off  your  things,  and  let  us  have  a 
downright  comfortable  afternoon.  Don't  forget  a 
single  sensation;  I  am  actually  starving  for  one." 

Mrs.  Lewis  smiled  grimly  as  she  fluffed  up  her 
bang  with  her  hat-pin.  She  drew  up  a  second  cosey 
rocking-chair  near  her  aunt's,  drew  out  her  needle 
and  crochet-work,  and  as  the  steel  hook  flashed  in 
and  out,  her  tongue  soon  acquired  its  accustomed 
momentum. 

"Where  is  Ruth?"  she  began,  winding  her  thread 
round  her  chubby,  ring-bedecked  finger. 

"She  is  paying  off  some  calls  for  a  change." 

"  Indeed  !     Got  down  to  conventionality  again?  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  99 

"You  would  not  call  her  unconventional,  would 
you?" 

"  Oh,  well ;  every  one  has  a  right  to  an  opinion." 

Mrs.  Levice  glanced  at  her  inquiringly.  Without 
doubt  there  was  an  underground  mine  beneath  this 
non-committal  remark.  Mrs.  Lewis  rocked  violently 
backward  and  forward  without  raising  her  eyes.  Her 
face  was  beet-red,  and  it  looked  as  if  an  explosion 
were  imminent.  Mrs.  Levice  waited  with  no  little 
speculation  as  to  what  act  of  Ruth  her  cousin  disap- 
proved of  so  obviously.  She  liked  Jennie  ;  every  one 
who  knew  her  recognized  her  sterling  good  heart ;  but 
almost  every  one  who  knew  her  agreed  that  a  grain 
of  flour  was  a  whole  cake,  baked  and  iced,  to  Mrs. 
Lewis's  imagination,  and  these  airy  comfits  were 
passed  around  promiscuously  to  whoever  was  on 
hand.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  portentous  silence  but 
the  decided  snap  with  which  Mrs.  Lewis  pulled  her 
needle  through,  and  the  hurricane  she  raised  with  her 
rocking. 

"  I  was  at  the  theatre  last  night." 

The  blow  drew  no  blood. 

"Which  theatre?"  asked  Mrs.  Levice,  innocently. 

"The  Baldwin;  Booth  played  the  'Merchant  of 
Venice.'  " 

"Did  you  enjoy  it?"  queried  her  aunt,  either 
evading  or  failing  to  perceive  the  meaning. 

"  I  did."     A  pause,  and  then,  "  Did  Ruth? " 

Mrs.  Levice  saw  a  flash  of  daylight,  but  her  answer 
hinted  at  no  perturbation. 

"  Very  much.     Booth  is  her  actor-idol,  you  know." 

"  So  I  have  heard."  She  spread  her  crochet  work 
on  her  knee  as  if  measuring  its  length,  then  with 


IOO  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

striking  indifference  picked  it  up  again  and  adjusted 
her  needle,  — 

"She  came  in  rather  late,  did  n't  she?  " 

"Did  she?"  questioned  Mrs.  Levice,  parrying  with 
enjoyment  the  indirect  thrusts.  "  I  did  not  know ; 
had  the  curtain  risen?" 

"  No ;  there  was  plenty  of  time  for  every  one  to 
recognize  her." 

"  I  had  no  idea  she  was  so  well  known." 

"  Those  who  did  not  know  her,  knew  her  escort. 
Dr.  Kemp  is  well  known,  and  his  presence  is  naturally 
remarked." 

"Yes;  his  appearance  is  very  striking." 

"  Aunt  Esther  !  "  The  vehemence  of  Mrs.  Lewis's 
feelings  sent  her  ball  of  cotton  rolling  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room. 

"  My  dear,  what  is  it?  "  Mrs.  Levice  turned  a  pair 
of  bright,  interested  eyes  on  her  niece. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  wish  to  say  :  every- 
body wondered  to  see  Ruth  with  Dr.  Kemp." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  every  one  knows  that  she  never  goes  out 
with  any  gentleman  but  Uncle  or  Louis,  and  we  all 
were  surprised.  The  Hoffmans  sat  behind  us,  and 
Miss  Hoffman  leaned  forward  to  ask  what  it  meant. 
I  met  several  acquaintances  this  morning  who  had 
been  there,  and  each  one  made  some  remark  about 
Ruth.  One  said,  '  I  had  no  idea  the  Levices  were  so 
intimate  with  Dr.  Kemp ; '  another  young  girl  laughed 
and  said,  '  Ruth  Levice  had  a  swell  escort  last  night, 
did  n't  she  ?  '  Still  another  asked,  '  Anything  on  the 
tapis  in  your  family,  Mrs.  Lewis  ? '  And  what  could 
I  say?" 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          IOI 


"What  ^/V/you  say?" 

Mrs.  Levice's  quiet  tone  did  not  betray  her  vexa- 
tion. She  had  feared  just  such  a  little  disturbance 
from  the  Jewish  community,  but  her  husband's  views 
had  overruled  hers,  and  she  was  now  bound  to  up- 
hold his.  Nevertheless,  she  hated  anything  of  the 
kind. 

"  I  simply  said  I  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  your  physician.  Even  if  I  had 
known,  I  wouldn't  have  said  more." 

"There  is  no  more  to  be  said.  Dr.  Kemp  and 
Ruth  have  become  friendly  through  their  mutual 
interest  in  several  poor  patients  ;  and  in  the  course  of 
conversation  one  morning  he  heard  that  Ruth  was 
anxious  to  see  this  play,  and  had  no  escort.  So  he 
asked  her,  and  her  father  saw  no  objection  to  her 
going.  It  is  a  pity  she  did  n't  think  to  hand  round 
a  written  explanation  to  her  different  Jewish  friends 
in  the  theatre." 

"  There  you  go,  Aunt  Esther  !  Jewish  friends  !  I 
am  sure  that  no  matter  how  indifferent  Uncle  is  to 
such  things,  you  must  remember  that  our  Jewish  girls 
never  go  alone  to  the  theatre  with  any  one  outside  of 
the  family,  and  certainly  not  with  a  Christian." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it,  so  long  as  he  is  a 
gentleman?" 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  did  n't  think  you  cared  to 
have  Ruth's  name  coupled  with  one." 

"  No,  nor  with  any  one.  But  as  I  cannot  control 
people's  tongues  —  " 

"  Then  I  would  not  give  them  cause  for  v/agging. 
Aunt  Esther,  is  there  anything  between  Ruth  and  Dr. 
Kemp?" 


0? 

r 

oar 


IO2  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Jennie,  you  surprise  and  anger  me.  Do  you 
know  what  you  insinuate  ?  " 

"  I  can't  help  it.  Either  you  are  crazy,  or  ignorant 
of  what  is  going  on,  and  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  en- 
lighten you,"  —  a  gossip's  duties  are  all  away  from 
home,  —  "  unless,  of  course,  you  prefer  to  remain  in 
blissful  or  wilful  ignorance." 

"  Speak  out,  please." 

"  Of  course  I  knew  you  must  have  sanctioned  her 
going  last  night,  though,  I  must  confess,  I  still  think 
you  did  very  wrongly ;  but  do  you  know  where  she 
went  this  morning?" 

Mrs.  Levice  was  put  out.  She  was  enough  of  a 
Jewess  to  realize  that  if  you  dislike  Jewish  comment, 
you  must  never  step  out  of  the  narrowly  conventional 
Jewish  pathway.  That  Ruth,  her  only  daughter, 
should  be  the  subject  of  vulgar  bandying  was  more 
bitter  than  wormwood  to  her ;  but  that  her  own  niece 
could  come  with  these  wild  conjectures  incensed  her 
beyond  endurance. 

"  I  do  know,"  she  said  in  response  to  the  forego- 
ing question.  "  Ruth  is  not  a  sneak,  —  she  tells  me 
everything ;  but  her  enterprises  are  so  mild  that  there 
would  be  no  harm  if  she  left  them  untold.  She 
called  on  a  poor  young  girl  who,  after  a  long  illness, 
desires  pupils  in  Spanish." 

"  A  friend  of  Dr.  Kemp." 

"  Exactly." 

"  A  young  girl,  unmarried,  who,  a  few  weeks  ago, 
through  a  merciful  fate,  lost  her  child  at  its  birth." 

The  faint  flush  on  Mrs.  Levice's  cheek  receded. 

"  Who  told  you  this  ?  "  she  questioned  in  an  even, 
low  voice. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  1 03 

"  I  thought  you  could  not  know.  Mrs.  Blake,  the 
landlady  where  the  girl  lives,  told  me." 

"  And  how,  pray,  do  you  connect  Ruth  with  this 
girl?" 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Mrs.  Blake  does  my  white  sew- 
ing. I  was  there  this  morning ;  and  just  as  I  went 
into  her  room,  I  saw  Ruth  leaving  another  farther 
down  the  hall.  Naturally  I  asked  Mrs.  Blake  who 
had  the  room,  and  she  told  me  the  story." 

"  Naturally."  The  cutting  sarcasm  drove  the 
blood  to  Mrs.  Lewis's  face. 

"  For  me  it  was ;  and  in  this  case,"  she  retorted 
with  rising  accents,  "  my  vulgar  curiosity  had  its 
vulgar  reward.  I  heard  a  scandalous  account  of 
the  girl  whom  my  cousin  was  visiting,  and,  outside 
of  Dr.  Kemp,  Ruth  is  the  only  visitor  she  has 
had." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,  Jennie." 

"  I  know  you  are,  Aunt  Esther.  But  what  I  find 
so  very  queer  is  that  Dr.  Kemp,  who  pretends  to  be 
her  friend,  —  and  I  have  seen  them  together  many 
times,  — should  have  sent  her  there.  Don't  you?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  it  at  all,  —  neither  Ruth 
nor  him." 

*'  Surely  you  don't  think  Ruth  knew  anything  of 
this  ? "  questioned  Mrs.  Lewis,  leaning  forward  and 
raising  her  voice  in  horror. 

"  Of  course  not,"  returned  Mrs.  Levice,  rather 
lamely.  She  had  long  ago  acknowledged  to  herself 
that  there  were  depths  in  her  daughter's  nature  that 
she  had  never  gauged. 

"  I  know  what  an  idol  his  patients  make  of  him, 
but  he  is  a  man  nevertheless ;  and  though  you  may 


IO4  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

think  it  horrible  of  me,  it  struck  me  as  very  sugges- 
tive that  he  was  that  girl's  only  friend." 

"  Therefore  he  must  have  been  a  good  friend." 

Mrs.  Lewis  bounded  from  her  chair  and  turned  a 
startled  face  to  Mr.  Levice,  who  had  thus  spoken, 
standing  in  the  doorway.  Mrs.  Levice  breathed  a 
sigh  of  hysterical  relief. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Jennie,"  he  said,  coming  into 
the  room  and  shaking  her  hand ;  "  sit  down  again. 
Good-afternoon,  Esther ; "  he  stooped  to  kiss  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Lewis's  hands  trembled ;  she  looked,  to  say 
the  least,  ashamed.  She  had  been  caught  scandal- 
mongering  by  her  uncle,  Jules  Levice,  the  head  and 
pride  of  the  whole  family. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  heard  what  I  did,  Jennie ;  sorry  to 
think  that  you  are  so  poor  as  to  lay  the  vilest  con- 
struction on  an  affair  of  which  you  evidently  know 
nothing,  and  sorry  you  could  not  keep  your  views  to 
yourself."  It  was  the  habit  of  all  of  Levice' s  rela- 
tives to  listen  in  silence  to  any  personal  reprimand 
the  dignified  old  man  might  offer. 

"  I  heard  a  good  part  of  your  conversation,  and 
I  can  only  characterize  it  as  —  petty.  Can't  you 
and  your  friends  see  anything  without  springing  at 
shilling- shocker  conclusions?  Don't  you  know  that 
people  sometimes  enjoy  themselves  without  any 
further  design?  So  much  for  the  theatre  talk. 
What  is  more  serious  is  the  fact  that  you  could  so 
misjudge  my  honorable  friend,  Dr.  Kemp.  Such  a 
thing,  Jennie,  my  girl,  would  be  as  remote  from  Dr. 
Kemp's  possibilities  as  the  antipodes.  Remember, 
what  I  say  is  indisputable.  Whether  Ruth  knew  the 
story  of  this  girl  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  either  way 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          1 05 

I  feel  assured  that  what  she  did  was  well  done  —  if 
innocently ;  if  with  knowledge,  so  much  the  better. 
And  I  venture  to  assert  that  she  is  not  a  whit 
harmed  by  the  action.  In  all  probability  she  will 
tell  us  all  the  particulars  if  we  ask  her.  Otherwise, 
Jennie,  don't  you  think  you  have  been  unnecessarily 
alarmed?"  The  benign  gentleness  of  his  question 
calmed  Mrs.  Lewis. 

"  Uncle,"  she  replied  earnestly,  "  in  my  life  such 
things  are  not  trivial;  perhaps  because  my  life  is 
narrower.  I  know  you  and  Ruth  take  a  different 
view  of  everything." 

"Don't  disparage  yourself;  people  generally  do 
that  to  be  contradicted  or  to  show  that  they  know 
their  weaknesses  and  have  never  cared  to  change 
them.  A  woman  of  your  intelligence  need  never 
sink  to  the  level  of  a  spiteful  chatterbox ;  every  one 
should  keep  his  tongue  sheathed,  for  it  is  more  deadly 
than  a  sword.  Your  higher  interests  should  make 
you  overlook  every  little  action  of  your  neighbors. 
You  only  see  or  hear  what  takes  place  when  the 
window  is  open ;  you  can  never  judge  from  this  what 
takes  place  when  the  window  is  shut.  How  are  the 
children?" 

By  dint  of  great  tenderness  he  strove  to  make  her 
more  at  ease. 

Ruth,  confronted  with  their  knowledge,  con- 
fessed, with  flushed  cheeks  and  glowing  eyes,  her 
contretemps. 

"  And,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "  Father,  Mamma, 
nothing  you  can  say  will  make  me  retract  anything 
I  have  done  or  purpose  doing." 

"  Nothing?"  repeated  her  father. 


IO6  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"I  hope  you  won't  ask  me  to,  but  that  is  my 
decision." 

"  My  darling,  I  dislike  to  hear  you  call  yourself  a 
mule,"  said  her  father,  looking  at  her  with  some- 
thing softer  than  disapproval ;  "  but  in  this  case  I 
shall  not  use  the  whip  to  turn  you  from  your  purpose. 
Eh,  Esther?" 

"  It  is  Quixotic,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Levice  ;  "  but  since 
you  have  gone  so  far,  there  is  no  reasonable  way  of 
getting  out  of  it.  When  next  I  see  the  doctor,  I 
shall  speak  to  him  of  it." 

"There  will  be  no  occasion,  dear,"  remonstrated 
the  indulgent  father,  at  sight  of  the  annoyed  flash  in 
Ruth's  eyes;  "I  shall." 

By  which  it  will  be  seen  that  the  course  of  an  only 
child  is  not  so  smooth  as  one  of  many  children 
may  think ;  every  action  of  the  former  assumes  such 
prominence  that  it  is  examined  and  cross-examined, 
and  very  often  sent  to  Coventry ;  whereas,  in  a  large 
family,  the  happy-go-lucky  offspring  has  his  little  light 
dimmed,  and  therefore  less  remarked,  through  the 
propinquity  of  others. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  IO? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IF  Ruth,  in  the  privacy  of  her  heart,  realized  that 
she  was  sailing  toward  dangerous  rapids,  the 
premonition  gave  her  no  unpleasant  fears.  Possibly 
she  used  no  lens,  being  content  to  glide  forever  on 
her  smooth  stream  of  delight.  When  the  sun  blinds 
us,  we  cannot  see  the  warning  black  lurking  in  the  far 
horizon.  Without  doubt  the  girl's  soul  and  sympa- 
thies were  receiving  their  proper  food.  Life  was 
full  for  her,  not  because  she  was  occupied,  —  for  a 
busy  life  does  not  always  prove  a  full  one,  —  but  be- 
cause she  entered  thoroughly  into  the  lives  of  others, 
struggled  with  their  struggles,  triumphed  in  their 
triumphs,  and  was  beginning  to  see  in  everything, 
good  or  bad,  its  necessity  of  existence.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances  one  cannot  see  much  misery 
without  experiencing  a  world  of  disillusion  and  futile 
rebellion  of  spirit ;  but  Ruth  was  not  living  just  at 
that  time  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

Something  of  the  nature  of  electricity  seemed 
to  envelop  her,  that  made  her  pulses  bound,  her  lips 
quick  to  smile,  and  her  eyes  shine  like  twin  dream- 
stars.  She  seemed  to  be  moving  to  some  raptur- 
ous music  unheard  save  only  by  herself.  At  night, 
alone  with  her  heart,  she  dared  hardly  name  to 
herself  the  meaning  of  it  all,  —  a  certain  puritanic 


IO8  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

modesty  withheld  her.  Yet  all  the  sweet  humility  of 
which  she  was  possessed  could  not  banish  from  her 
memory  the  lingering  clasp  of  a  hand,  the  warm 
light  that  fell  from  eyes  that  glanced  at  her.  For  the 
present,  these  were  grace  sufficient  for  her  daily 
need.  Given  the  perfume,  what  need  to  name  the 
flower? 

Her  family,  without  understanding  it,  noted  the 
difference  in  their  different  ways.  Mrs.  Levice  saw 
with  a  thrill  of  delight  that  she  was  growing  more 
softly  beautiful.  Her  father,  holding  his  hands  a  few 
inches  from  her  shoulders,  said,  one  morning,  with  a 
drolly  puzzled  look,  "  I  am  afraid  to  touch  you ; 
sparks  might  fly." 

Arnold  surprised  her  standing  in  the  gloaming  by  a 
window,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  head,  a  smile 
parting  her  lips,  her  eyes  haunting  in  the  witchery  of 
their  expression.  By  some  occult  power  her  glance 
fell  unconsciously  on  him ;  and  he  beheld,  with 
mingled  amazement  and  speculation,  a  rosy  hue 
overspread  her  face  and  throat ;  her  hands  went 
swiftly  to  her  face  as  if  she  would  hide  something 
it  might  reveal,  and  she  passed  quickly  from  the 
room.  Arnold  sat  down  to  solve  this  problem  of 
an  unknown  quantity. 

Ruth's  birthday  came  in  its  course,  a  few  days 
after  her  meeting  with  Rose  Delano. 

The  family  celebrated  it  in  their  usual  simple  way, 
which  consisted  only  in  making  the  day  pass  pleas- 
antly for  the  one  whose  day  of  days  it  was,  —  a 
graceful  way  of  showing  that  the  birth  has  been  a 
happy  one  for  all  concerned. 

On  this  evening  of  her   twenty-second   birthday, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          1 09 

Ruth  seemed  to  be  in  her  element.  She  had  donned, 
in  a  spirit  of  mischief,  a  gown  she  had  worn  five 
years  before  on  the  occasion  of  some  festivity.  The 
girlish  fashion  of  the  white  frock,  with  its  straight,  full 
skirt  to  her  ankles,  the  round  baby  waist,  and  short 
puffs  on  her  shoulders  made  a  very  child  of  her. 

"Who  can  imagine  me  seventeen?"  she  asked 
gayly  as  she  entered  the  library,  softly  lighted  by 
many  wax  candles.  Her  mother,  who  was  again 
enjoying  the  freedom  of  the  house,  and  who  was  now 
snugly  ensconced  in  her  own  particular  chair,  looked 
up  at  her. 

"  That  little  frock  makes  me  long  to  take  you  in 
my  lap,"  said  she,  brightly. 

"  And  it  makes  me  long  to  be  there,"  answered 
Ruth,  throwing  herself  into  her  mother's  arms  and 
twining  her  arms  about  her  neck. 

"  How  now,  Mr.  Arnold,  you  can't  scare  me  to- 
night with  your  sarcastic  disapproval !  "  she  laughed, 
glancing  provokingly  over  at  her  cousin  seated  in  a 
deep  blue-cushioned  chair. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  scare  you,  little  one,"  he 
answered  pleasantly.  "  I  only  do  that  to  children  or 
grown-up  people." 

"  And  what  am  I,  pray,  good  sir?  " 

"  You  are  neither ;  you  are  neither  child  nor  woman  ; 
you  are  neither  flesh  nor  spirit ;  you  are  uncanny." 

"  Dear  me  !  In  other  words,  I  am  a  conundrum. 
Who  will  guess  me?" 

"  You  are  the  Sphinx,"  replied  her  cousin. 

"  I  won't  be  that  ugly-faced  thing,"  she  retorted  ; 
"  guess  again." 

"  Impossible.     Once  acquire  a  sphinx's  elusiveness, 


HO  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

and  you  are  a  mystery   perpetual.     You   alone    can 
unriddle  the  riddle." 

"  I  can't.     I  give  myself  up." 

"  Not  so  fast,  young  woman,"  broke  in  her  father, 
shutting  his  magazine  and  settling  his  glasses  more 
firmly  upon  his  nose ;  "  that  is  an  office  I  alone  can 
perform.  Who  has  been  hunting  on  my  preserves?  " 

"Alas  !  They  are  not  tempting,  so  be  quite  calm 
on  that  score."  She  sat  up  with  a  forlorn  sigh, 
adding,  "  Think  of  it,  Father,  twenty-two,  and  not  a 
heart  to  hang  on  my  chatelaine." 

"  Hands  are  supposed  to  mean  hearts  nowadays," 
said  Louis,  reassuringly ;  "I  am  sure  you  have 
mittened  one  or  two." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  laughing  evasively,  "  both 
of  little  Toddie  Flynn's.  Mamma,  don't  you  think  I 
am  too  big  a  baby  for  you  to  hold  long?"  She 
sprang  up,  and  drawing  a  stool  before  her  father's 
chair,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Now,  Father,  a  grown-up  Mother-Goose  story 
for  my  birthday ;  make  it  short  and  sweet  and  with 
a  moral  like  you." 

Mr.  Levice  patted  her  head  and  rumpled  the 
loosely  gathered  hair. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  he  began,  "  a  little  boy  went 
into  his  father's  warehouse  and  ate  up  all  the  sugar 
in  the  land.  He  did  not  die,  but  he  was  so  sweet 
that  everybody  wanted  to  bite  him.  That  is  short 
and  sweet;  and  what  is  the  moral?" 

"  Selfishness  brings  misery,"  answered  Ruth,  prompt- 
ly ;  "  clever  of  both  of  us,  but  what  is  the  analogy  ? 
Louis,  you  look  lonesome  over  there.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  masquerading ;  come  nearer  the  footlights." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          Ill 

"And  get  scorched  for  my  pains?  Thanks;  this 
is  very  comfortable.  Distance  adds  to  illusion." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  admit  you  have  any  illusions, 
do  you?  Why,  those  glasses  of  yours  could  see 
through  a  rhinoceros,  I  verily  believe.  Did  you  ever 
see  anything  you  did  not  consider  a  delusion  and  a 
snare?" 

"  Yes ;  there  is  a  standing  institution  of  whose 
honest  value  there  is  no  doubt." 

"And  that  is?" 

"My  bed." 

"  After  all,  it  is  a  lying  institution,  my  friend ;  and 
are  you  not  deposing  your  masculine  muse,  —  your 
cigar?  Oh,  that  reminds  me  of  the  annual  peace- 
pipe." 

She  jumped  up,  snatched  a  candle,  and  left  the 
room.  As  she  turned  toward  the  staircase  she  was 
arrested  by  the  ringing  of  the  doorbell.  She  stood 
quite  still,  holding  the  lighted  candle  while  the  maid 
opened  the  door. 

"  Is  Miss  Levice  in?"  asked  the  voice  that  made 
the  little  candle-light  seem  like  myriads  of  swimming 
stars.  As  the  maid  answered  in  the  affirmative,  she 
came  mechanically  forward  and  met  the  bright- 
glancing  eyes  of  Dr.  Kemp. 

"  Good-evening,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  dis- 
engaged hand,  which  he  grasped  and  shook  heartily. 

"Is  it  Santa  Filomena?"  he  asked,  smiling  into 
her  eyes. 

"  No,  only  Ruth  Levice,  who  is  pleased  to  see  you. 
Will  you  step  into  the  library?  We  are  having  a 
little  home  evening  together." 

"  Thank  you.     Directly."     He  slipped  out  of  his 


112  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

topcoat,  and  turning  quietly  to  her,  said,  "  But  before 
we  go  in,  and  I  enact  the  odd  number,  I  wish  to  say 
a  few  words  to  you  alone,  please." 

She  bent  a  look  of  inquiry  upon  him,  and  meeting 
the  gaze  of  his  compelling  eyes,  led  him  across  the 
hall  into  the  drawing-room.  He  noticed  how  the 
soft  light  she  held  made  her  the  only  white  spot  in 
the  dark  room,  till,  touching  a  tall  silver  lamp,  she 
threw  a  rosy  halo  over  everything.  That  it  was  an 
exquisite,  graceful  apartment  he  felt  at  a  glance. 

She  placed  her  candle  upon  a  tiny  rococo  table, 
and  seated  herself  in  a  quaint,  low  chair  overtopped 
by  two  tiny  ivory  horns  that  spread  like  hands  of 
blessing  above  her  head.  The  doctor  declined  to  sit 
down,  but  stood  with  one  hand  upon  the  fragile  table 
and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think,  after  all,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  that  you  are  in  truth  the  divine  lady  with  the  light. 
It  is  a  pretty  name  and  a  pretty  fame,  —  that  of  Santa 
Filomena." 

What  had  come  over  her  eyelids  that  they  refused 
to  be  raised? 

"  I  think,"  he  continued  with  a  low  laugh,  "  that  I 
shall  always  call  you  so,  and  have  all  rights  reserved. 
May  I?" 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  answered,  raising  her  eyes, 
"  that  your  poem  would  be  without  rhyme  or 
reason;  a  candle  is  too  slight  a  thing  for  such  an 
assumption." 

"  But  not  a  Rose  Delano.  I  saw  her  to-day,  and  at 
least  one  sufferer  would  turn  to  kiss  your  shadow. 
Do  you  know  what  a  wonderfully  beautiful  thing  you 
have  done?  I  came  to-night  to  thank  you;  for  any 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          113 

one  who  makes  good  our  ideals  is  a  subject  for 
thanks.  Of  course,  the  thing  had  no  personal  bear- 
ing upon  myself;  but  being  an  officious  fellow,  I 
thought  it  proper  to  let  you  know  that  I  know.  That 
is  my  only  excuse  for  coming." 

"  Did  you  need  an  excuse?  " 

"  That,  or  an  invitation." 

"  Oh,  I  never  thought  of  you  —  as  —  as  —  " 

"As  a  man?" 

How  to  answer  this  ?     Then  finally  she  said,  — 

"  As  caring  to  waste  an  evening." 

"  Would  it  be  a  waste  ?  There  is  an  old  adage  that 
one  might  adapt,  then,  '  A  wilful  waste  makes  a 
woful  want.'  Want  is  a  bad  thing,  so  economy  would 
not  be  a  half-bad  idea.  Shall  we  go  in  to  your  family 
now,  or  will  they  not  think  you  have  been  spirited 
away?  " 

He  took  the  candle  from  her,  and  they  retraced 
their  steps.  As  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door, 
she  said,  — 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  candle,  please,  and  walk  in  ? 
I  am  going  upstairs." 

"Are  you  not  coming  down  again?"  he  asked, 
standing  abruptly  still. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Father,"  she  called,  opening  wide  the 
door,  "  here  is  Dr.  Kemp." 

With  this  announcement  she  fled  up  the  staircase. 

She  had  come  up  for  some  cigars;  but  when  she 
got  into  her  father's  room,  she  seated  herself  blindly 
and  looked  aimlessly  down  at  her  hands.  What  a 
blessed  reprieve  this  was  !  If  she  could  but  stay 
here  !  She  could  if  it  were  not  for  the  peace-pipe. 
Such  a  silly  performance  too  !  Father  kept  those 


114  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

superfine  cigars  over  in  the  cabinet  there.  Should 
she  bring  only  two  as  usual?  Then  she  was  going? 
Why  not?  It  would  look  very  rude  not  to  do  so. 
Besides,  she  wondered  what  they  were  talking  about. 
She  supposed  she  must  have  looked  very  foolish  in 
that  gown  with  her  hair  all  mussed  ;  and  then  his 
eyes —  She  arose  suddenly  and  walked  to  the  dress- 
ing-table with  her  light.  After  all,  it  was  not  very 
unbecoming.  Had  her  face  been  so  white  all  the 
evening?  Louis  liked  her  face  to  be  colorless.  Oh, 
she  had  better  hurry  down. 

"  Here  comes  the  chief!  "  cried  her  mother  as  she 
entered.  "Now,  Doctor,  you  can  see  the  native 
celebrating  her  natal  day." 

"She  enacts  the  witch,"  said  her  father,  "and 
sends  us,  living,  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds.  Will 
you  join  us,  Doctor?  " 

"  If  Lachesis  thinks  me  worthy.  Is  the  operation 
painful?  " 

He  received  no  answer  as  Ruth  came  forward  with 
a  box  of  tempting  Havanas.  She  selected  one,  and 
placing  the  box  on  a  chair,  reached  to  the  high-tiled 
mantel-shelf,  whence  she  took  a  tiny  pair  of  scissors 
and  deftly  cut  off  the  point  of  the  cigar.  She  seemed 
quite  unconscious  that  all  were  watching  her.  Louis 
handed  her  a  lighted  match,  and  putting  the  cigar 
between  her  lips,  she  lit  it  into  life.  The  doctor  was 
amused. 

She  blew  up  a  wreath  of  the  fragrant  smoke  and 
handing  it  to  her  father,  said,  — 

"  With  this  year's  love,  Father." 

The  doctor  grew  interested. 

She  took  another,  and  lighting  it  as  gracefully,  and 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  115 

without  the  slightest  approach  to  Bohemianism,  gave 
it  into  Louis's  outstretched  hand. 

"Well?"  he  suggested,  holding  it  from  his  lips  till 
she  had  spoken. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  you  care  for  sufficiently 
to  wish  you." 

"Nothing?" 

"  Unless,"  with  sudden  mischief,  "  I  wish  you  a 
comfortable  bed  all  the  year  round  —  and  pleasant 
dreams,  Louis." 

"  That  is  much,"  he  answered  dryly  as  he  drew  a 
cloud  of  smoke. 

The  doctor  became  anticipative. 

Ruth's  embarrassment  was  evident  as  she  turned 
and  offered  him  a  cigar. 

"Do  you  smoke?"  she  asked,  holding  out  the 
box. 

"  Like  a  chimney,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her,  but 
taking  none,  "  and  in  the  same  manner  as  other 
common  mortals." 

She  stood  still,  but  withdrew  her  hand  a  little  as  if 
repelling  the  hint  his  words  conveyed ;  whereupon 
he  immediately  selected  a  cigar,  saying  as  he  did 
so,  "  So  you  were  born  in  summer,  —  the  time  of 
all  good  things.  Well,  'Thy  dearest  wish,  wish  I 
thee,'  and  may  it  not  pass  in  the  smoking  !  " 

She  swept  him  a  deep,  mock  courtesy. 

After  this,  Ruth  sat  a  rather  silent  listener  to  the 
conversation.  She  knew  that  they  were  discussing 
the  pros  and  cons  of  the  advantages  for  a  bachelor  of 
club  life  over  home  life.  She  knew  that  Louis  was 
making  some  brilliantly  cynical  remarks,  —  asserting 
that  the  apparent  privacy  of  the  latter  was  delusive, 


Il6  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

and  that  the  reputed  publicity  of  the  former  was 
deceptive,  as  it  was  even  more  isolated  than  the 
latter.  All  of  which  the  doctor  laughed  down  as 
untruly  epigrammatic. 

"Then  there  is  only  one  loophole  for  the  poor 
bachelor,"  Mrs.  Levice  summed  up,  "  and  that  is  to 
marry.  Louis  complains  of  the  club,  and  thinks 
himself  a  sort  of  cynosure  in  a  large  household.  You, 
Doctor,  complain  of  the  want  of  coseyness  in  a 
bachelor  establishment.  To  state  it  simply,  you 
need  a  wife." 

"  And  oust  my  Pooh-ba !  Madame,  you  do  not 
know  what  a  treasure  that  old  soldier  of  mine  is.  If 
I  call  him  a  veritable  Martha,  I  shall  but  be  paying 
proper  tribute  to  the  neatness  with  which  he  keeps 
my  house  and  linen ;  he  entertains  my  palate  as  deli- 
ciously  as  a  Corinne  her  salon,  and  —  is  never  in  my 
way  or  thoughts.  Can  you  commend  me  any  woman 
so  self-abnegatory  ?  " 

"Many  women,  but  no  wife,  I  am  glad  to  say. 
But  you  need  one." 

"  So  !     Pray  explain  wherein  the  lack  is  apparent." 

"  Oh,  not  to  me,  but  —  " 

"You  mean  you  consider  a  wife  an  adjunct  to  a 
doctor's  certificate." 

"  It  is  a  great  guarantee  with  women,"  put  in 
Louis,  "  as  a  voucher  against  impatience  with  their 
own  foibles.  They  think  only  home  practice  can 
secure  the  adequate  tolerance.  Eh,  Aunt  Esther?" 

"  Nonsense,  Louis  !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Levice ; 
"  what  has  that  to  do  with  skill  ?  " 

"  Skill  is  one  thing ;  the  manner  of  man  is  another 
—  with  women." 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          1 1/ 

"That  is  worth  considering  —  or  adding  to  the 
curriculum,"  observed  Kemp,  turning  his  steady,  quiet 
gaze  upon  Arnold. 

Ruth  noticed  that  the  two  men  had  taken  the  same 
position,  —  vis-a-vis  to  each  other  in  their  respective 
easy- chairs,  their  heads  thrown  back  upon  the  cush- 
ions, their  arms  resting  on  the  chair- arms.  Some- 
thing in  Louis's  veiled  eyes  caused  her  to  interpose. 

"  Will  you  play,  Louis?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  to-night,  ma  cousine"  he  replied,  glancing 
at  her  from  lowered  lids. 

"  It  is  not  optional  with  you  to-night,  Louis," 
she  insisted  playfully,  rising;  "we  —  desire  you  to 
play." 

"Or  be  punished  for  treason?  Has  your  Majesty 
any  other  behest?  " 

"  No ;  I  shall  even  turn  the  leaves  for  you.'* 

"  The  leaves  of  what,  —  memory  ?  I  '11  play  by 
rote."  « 

He  strolled  over  to  the  piano  and  sat  down.  He 
struck  a  few  random  chords,  some  soft,  some  florid, 
some  harsh,  some  melting;  he  strung  them  together 
and  then  glided  into  a  dreamy,  melodious  rhythm, 
that  faded  into  a  bird-like  hallelujah,  —  swelling  now 
into  grandeur,  then  fainting  into  sobs,  then  rushing 
into  an  allegro  so  brilliantly  bewildering  that  when 
the  closing  chords  came  like  the  pealing  tones  of  an 
organ,  Ruth  drew  a  long  sigh  with  the  last  lingering 
vibrations. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Levice,  looking  curiously 
at  his  nephew,  who,  turning  on  his  music-chair,  took 
up  his  cigar  again. 

"  That,"  he  replied,  flecking  an  ash  from  his  coat 


Il8  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

lappel,  "has  no  name  that  I  know  of;  some  people 
call  it  <  The  Soul.'  " 

A  pained  sensation  shot  through  Ruth  at  his  words, 
for  he  had  plainly  been  improvising,  and  he  must 
have  felt  what  he  had  played. 

"  Here,  Ruth,  sing  this,"  he  continued,  turning 
round  and  picking  up  a  sheet  of  music. 

"  What?  "  she  asked  without  moving. 

"  '  The  Bugle ; '  I  like  it." 

Kemp  looked  at  her  expectantly.  He  said  he  had 
not  known  she  sang ;  but  since  she  did,  he  was  sure 
her  voice  was  contralto. 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  your  face  is  contralto." 

She  turned  from  his  eyes  as  if  they  hurt  her,  and 
walked  over  to  Louis's  side. 

It  could  hardly  be  called  singing.  Louis  had  often 
said  that  her  voice  needed  merely  to  be  set  to  rhyth- 
mic time  to  be  music ;  in  pursuance  of  which  idea  he 
would  put  into  her  hand  some  poem  that  touched  his 
fancy,  tell  her  to  read  it,  and  as  she  read,  he  would 
adapt  to  it  an  accompaniment  according  to  the  meaning 
and  measure  of  the  lines,  —  grandly  solemn,  daintily 
tripping,  or  wildly  inspiriting.  It  was  more  like  a  chant 
than  a  song.  To-night  he  chose  Tennyson's  Bugle-song. 
Her  voice  was  subservient  to  the  accompaniment,  that 
shook  its  faint,  sweet  bugle-notes  at  first  as  in  a  rosy 
splendor ;  it  rose  and  swelled  and  echoed  and  rever- 
berated and  died  away  slowly  as  if  loath  to  de- 
part. Arnold's  playing  was  the  poem,  Ruth's  voice 
the  music  the  poet  might  have  heard  as  he  wrote, 
sweet  as  a  violin,  deep  as  the  feeling  evolved,  —  for 
when  she  came  to  the  lines  beginning,  "Oh,  love, 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

they  die  in  yon  rich  sky,"  she  might  have  stood 
alone  with  one,  in  some  high,  clear  place,  so  mellow 
was  the  thrill  of  her  voice,  so  rapt  the  expression  of 
her  face.  Kemp  looked  as  if  he  would  not  tire  if  the 
sound  should  "  grow  forever  and  forever." 

Mrs.  Levice  was  wakeful  after  she  had  gone  to  bed. 
Her  husband  also  seemed  inclined  to  prolong  the 
night,  for  he  made  no  move  to  undress. 

"Jules,"  said  she  in  a  low,  confidential  tone,  "do 
you  realize  that  our  daughter  is  twenty-two?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  half-smile. 

"  Is  not  this  her  birthday?  " 

"  Her  twenty-second,  and  she  is  still  unmarried." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  it  is  time  she  were.  I  should  like  to 
see  it." 

"  So  should  I,"  he  acquiesced  with  marked  decision. 

Mrs.  Levice  straightened  herself  up  in  bed  and 
looked  at  her  husband  eagerly. 

"Is  it  possible,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  we  have 
both  thought  of  the  same  parti  ?  " 

It  was  now  Mr.  Levice's  turn  to  start  into  an  inter- 
ested position. 

"  Of  whom,"  he  asked  with  some  restraint,  "  are 
you  speaking?  " 

"  Hush  !  Come  here ;  I  have  longed  for  it  for 
some  time,  but  have  never  breathed  it  to  a  soul,  — 
Louis." 

Levice  had  become  quite  pale,  but  as  she  pro- 
nounced the  familiar  name,  the  color  returned  to  his 
cheek,  and  a  surprised  look  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

"  Louis?     Why  do  you  think  of  such  a  thing?  " 

"Because  I   think  them   particularly  well   suited. 


I2O  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Ruth,  pardon  me,  dear,  has  imbibed  some  very 
peculiar  and  high-flown  notions.  No  merely  common- 
place young  man  would  make  her  happy.  A  man 
must  have  some  ideas  outside  of  what  his  daily  life 
brings  him,  if  she  is  to  spend  a  moment's  interested 
thought  on  him.  She  has  repelled  some  of  the  most 
eligible  advances  for  no  obvious  reasons  whatever. 
Now,  she  does  not  care  a  rap  for  society,  and  goes 
only  because  I  exact  it.  That  is  no  condition  for  a 
young  girl  to  allow  herself  to  sink  into ;  she  owes  a 
duty  to  her  future.  I  am  telling  you  this  because,  of 
course,  you  see  nothing  peculiar  in  such  a  course. 
But  it  is  time  you  were  roused ;  you  know  one  look 
from  you  is  worth  a  whole  sermon  from  me.  As  to 
my  thinking  of  Louis,  well,  in  running  over  my  list  of 
eligibles,  I  found  he  fulfilled  every  condition,  —  good- 
looking,  clever,  cultivated,  well-to-do,  and  —  of  good 
family.  Why  should  it  not  be?  They  like  each 
other,  and  see  enough  of  each  other  to  learn  to  love. 
We,  however,  must  bring  it  to  a  head." 

"  First  provide  the  hearts,  little  woman.  What  can 
I  do,  ask  Louis  or  Ruth?  " 

"  Jules,"  she  returned  with  vexation,  "  how  child- 
ish !  Don't  you  feel  well  ?  Your  cheeks  are  rather 
flushed." 

"  They  are  somewhat  warm.  I  am  going  in  to 
kiss  the  child  good-night ;  she  ran  off  while  I  saw 
Dr.  Kemp  out." 

Ruth  sat  in  her  white  dressing-gown,  her  heavy 
dark  hair  about  her,  her  brush  idle  in  her  hand.  Her 
father  stood  silently  in  the  doorway,  regarding  her,  a 
great  dread  tugging  at  his  heart.  Jules  Levice  was  a 
keen  student  of  the  human  face,  and  he  had  caught  a 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          121 

faint  glimpse  of  something  in  the  doctor's  eyes  while 
Ruth  sang.  He  knew  it  had  been  harmless,  for  her 
back  had  been  turned,  but  he  wished  to  reassure 
himself. 

"  Not  in  bed  yet,  my  child?  " 

She  started  up  in  confusion  as  he  came  in. 

"  Of  what  were  you  thinking,  darling?"  he  con- 
tinued, putting  his  hand  under  her  soft  white  chin 
and  looking  deeply  into  her  eyes. 

"  Well,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  I  was  not  thinking 
of  anything  important ;  I  was  thinking  of  you.  We, 
are  going  to  Beacham's  next  week  —  and  have  you 
any  fine  silk  shirts?  " 

He  laughed  a  hearty,  relieved  laugh. 

"Well,  no,"  he  answered;  "I  leave  all  such 
fancies  to  your  care.  So  we  go  next  week.  I  am 
glad ;  and  you?" 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  love  the  country  in  its  summer  dress, 
you  know." 

"Yes.  Well,  good-night,  love."  He  took  her 
face  between  his  hands,  and  drawing  it  down  to 
his,  kissed  it.  Still  holding  her,  he  said  with  sweet 
solemnity,  — 

"  '  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee. 

"  'The  Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and 
be  gracious  unto  thee. 

" '  The  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee,  and 
give  thee  peace/  " 


122  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

IT  was  August.  The  Levices  had  purposely  post- 
poned leaving  town  until  the  gay,  merry-making 
crowds  had  disappeared,  when  Mrs.  Levice,  in  the 
quiet  of  autumn,  could  put  a  crown  to  her  recovery. 

Ruth  had  quite  a  busy  time  getting  all  three  ready, 
as  she  was  to  continue  the  management  of  the  house- 
hold affairs  until  their  return,  a  month  later.  Besides 
which,  numerous  little  private  incidentals  had  to  be 
put  in  running  order  for  a  month,  and  she  realized 
with  a  pang  at  parting  with  some  of  her  simple,  sin- 
cere protegts  that  were  this  part  of  her  life  withdrawn, 
the  rest  would  pall  insufferably. 

The  evening  before  their  departure  she  stood  bare- 
headed upon  the  steps  of  the  veranda  with  Louis,  who 
was  enjoying  a  post-prandial  smoke.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Levice,  in  the  soft  golden  gloaming  of  late  summer, 
were  strolling  arm-in-arm  among  the  flower-beds. 
Mrs.  Levice,  without  obviously  looking  toward  them, 
felt  with  satisfaction  that  Ruth  was  looking  well  in  a 
plain  black  gown  which  she  had  had  no  time  to  change 
after  her  late  shopping.  She  did  not  know  that,  close 
and  isolated  as  the  young  man  and  woman  stood,  not 
only  were  they  silent,  but  each  appeared  oblivious  of 
the  other's  presence. 

Ruth,  with  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  and 
Arnold,  blowing  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  into  the 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  123 

heliotrope-scented  air,  looked  as  if  under  a  dream- 
spell. 

As  Mrs.  Levice  passed  within  ear-shot,  Ruth  heard 
snatches  of  the  broken  sentence,  — 

"  Jennie  —  good-by  —  to-day." 

This  roused  her  from  her  revery,  and  she  called 
to  her  mother,  — 

"Why,  I  forgot  to  drop  in  at  Jennie's  this  after- 
noon, as  I  promised." 

"  How  annoying  !  when  you  know  how  sensitive  she 
is  and  how  angry  she  gets  at  any  neglect." 

"  I  can  run  out  there  now.     It  is  light  enough." 

"  But  it  will  be  dark  in  less  than  an  hour.  Louis, 
will  you  go  out  to  Jennie's  with  Ruth?" 

"  Eh?     Oh,  certainly,  if  she  wishes  me." 

"  I  wish  you  to  come  if  you  yourself  wish  it.  I  '11 
run  in  and  get  my  hat  and  jacket  while  you  decide." 

Ruth  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  jaunty 
little  sailor  hat  on  and  a  light  gray  jacket,  which  she 
handed  to  Louis  to  hold  for  her. 

"New?"  he  asked,  pulling  it  into  place  in  the 
back. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  do  you  like  it  for  travelling  ?  " 

"Under  a  duster.  Otherwise  its  delicate  com- 
plexion will  be  rather  freckled  when  you  arrive  at 
Beacham's." 

He  pulled  his  hat  on  from  ease  to  respectability 
and  followed  her  down  to  the  gate.  They  turned  the 
corner,  walking  southward  toward  the  valley.  Mrs. 
Levice  and  her  husband  stood  at  the  gate  and 
watched  them  saunter  off.  When  they  were  quite 
out  of  sight,  Mrs.  Levice  turned  around  and  sang 
gayly  to  Mr.  Levice,  " l  Qa  va  bien  ! '  " 


124  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

The  other  two  walked  on  silently.  The  evening 
was  perfect.  To  the  west  and  sweeping  toward 
Golden  Gate  a  hazy  glory  flushed  the  sky  rose-color 
and  molten  gold,  purple  and  silver;  and  then  seas 
of  glinting  pale  green  to  the  northward  held  the  eye 
with  their  beauty.  The  air  was  soft  and  languorous 
after  a  very  warm  day ;  now  and  then  a  piano,  violin, 
or  mandolin  sounded  through  open  windows;  the 
peace  and  beauty  of  rest  was  over  all. 

They  continued  down  Van  Ness  Avenue  a  few 
blocks,  and  unconsciously  turned  into  one  of  the 
dividing  streets  toward  Franklin.  Suddenly  Arnold 
felt  his  companion  start,  and  saw  she  had  taken  her 
far-off  gaze  from  the  landscape.  Following  the 
direction  of  her  eyes,  he  also  straightened  up.  The 
disturbing  object  was  a  slight  black  column  attached 
to  a  garden  fence  and  bearing  in  small  gold  letters 
the  simple  name,  Dr.  Herbert  Kemp. 

As  they  approached  nearer,  Arnold  knew  of  a 
certainty  that  there  would  be  more  speaking  signs  of 
the  doctor's  propinquity.  His  forecasting  was  not  at 
fault. 

Dr.  Kemp's  quaint,  dark-red  cottage,  with  its 
flower- edged  lawn,  was  reached  by  a  flight  of  low 
granite  steps,  at  the  top  of  which  lounged  the  medical 
gentleman  in  person.  He  was  not  heaven-gazing,  but 
seemed  plunged  in  tobacco-inspired  meditation  of 
the  flowers  beneath  him.  Arnold's  quick  eye  detected 
the  pink  flush  that  rose  to  the  little  ear  of  his  cousin. 
The  sound  of  their  footsteps  on  the  stone  sidewalk 
came  faintly  to  Kemp ;  he  raised  his  eyes  slowly  and 
indifferently.  The  indifference  vanished  when  he 
recognized  them. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          12$ 

With  a  hasty  movement  he  threw  the  cigar  from 
him  and  ran  down  the  steps. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  called,  raising  his  old  slouch 
hat  and  arresting  their  evident  intention  of  proceeding 
on  their  way.  They  came  up,  perforce,  and  met  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"  A  beautiful  evening,"  he  said  originally,  holding 
out  a  cordial  hand  to  Arnold  and  looking  with  happy 
eyes  at  Ruth.  She  noticed  that  there  was  a  marked 
difference  in  his  appearance  from  anything  she  had 
been  used  to.  His  figure  looked  particularly  tall  and 
easy  in  a  loose  dark  velvet  jacket,  thrown  open  from 
his  broad  chest ;  the  large  sombrero-like  hat  which  had 
settled  on  the  back  of  his  head  left  to  view  his  dark 
hair  brushed  carelessly  backward;  an  unusual  color 
was  on  his  cheek,  and  a  warm  glow  in  his  gray  eyes. 

"  I  hope,"  he  went  on,  frankly  transferring  his 
attention  to  Ruth,  "  this  weather  will  continue.  We 
shall  have  a  magnificent  autumn ;  the  woods  must  be 
beginning  to  look  gorgeous." 

"  I  shall  know  better  to-morrow." 

"  To-  morrow?" 

"Yes;  we  leave  for  Beacham's  to-morrow,  you 
know." 

"  No,  I  did  not  know ;  "  an  indefinable  shadow  over- 
clouded his  face,  but  he  said  quickly,  — 

"That  is  an  old  hunting-ground  of  mine.  The 
river  teems  with  speckled  treasures.  Are  you  a  disci- 
ple of  old  Walton,  Mr.  Arnold?"  he  added,  turning 
with  courtesy  to  the  silent  Frenchman. 

"  You  mean  fishing  ?  No ;  life  is  too  short  to  hang 
my  humor  of  a  whole  day  on  the  end  of  a  line.  I 
have  never  been  at  Beacham's." 


126  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"It  is  a  fine  spot.  You  will  probably  go  down 
there  this  year." 

"  My  business  keeps  me  tied  to  the  city  just  at 
present.  A  professional  man  has  no  such  bond ;  his 
will  is  his  master." 

"  Hardly,  or  I  should  have  slipped  cables  long  ago. 
A  restful  night  is  an  unknown  indulgence  sometimes 
for  weeks." 

His  gaze  moved  from  Arnold's  peachy  cheek,  and 
falling  upon  Ruth,  surprised  her  dark  eyes  resting 
upon  him  in  anxious  questioning.  He  smiled. 

"We  shall  have  to  be  moving  on,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing out  a  gloved  hand. 

"Will  you  be  gone  long?"  he  asked,  pressing  it 
cordially. 

"  About  a  month." 

"You  will  be  missed  —  by  the  Flynns.  Good- 
by."  He  raised  his  hat  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Arnold  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  they  walked  off. 

They  say  that  the  first  thing  a  Frenchman  learns 
in  studying  the  English  language  is  the  use  of 
that  highly  expressive  outlet  of  emotion,  "  Damn." 
Arnold  was  an  old-timer,  but  he  had  not  outgrown 
the  charm  of  his  first  linguistic  victory ;  and  now  as 
he  replaced  his  hat  in  reply  to  Kemp,  he  distinctly 
though  coolly  said,  "  Damn  him." 

Ruth  looked  at  him,  startled ;  but  the  composed, 
non-committal  expression  of  his  face  led  her  to 
believe  that  her  ears  had  deceived  her. 

A  few  more  blocks  were  passed,  and  they  stopped 
at  a  pretentious,  many-windowed,  Queen  Anne 
house.  Ruth  ran  lightly  up  the  steps,  her  cousin 
following  her  leisurely. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          127 

She  had  scarcely  rung  the  bell  when  the  door 
was  opened  by  Mrs.  Lewis  herself. 

"  Good-evening,  Ruth  ;  why,  Mr.  Arnold  does  n't 
mean  to  say  that  he  does  us  the  honor?" 

Mr.  Arnold  had  said  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  but  he 
offered  no  disclaimer,  and  giving  her  rather  a  loose 
hand-shake,  walked  in. 

"  Come  right  into  the  dining-room,"  she  continued. 
"  I  suppose  you  were  surprised  to  find  me  in  the 
hall  •  I  had  just  come  from  putting  the  children 
to  bed.  They  were  in  mischievous  spirits  and  an- 
noyed their  father,  who  wished  to  be  very  quiet  this 
evening." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  room  at  the  end 
of  the  hall,  the  door  of  which  she  threw  open. 

Jewish  people,  as  a  rule,  use  their  dining-rooms  to 
sit  in,  keeping  the  drawing-rooms  for  company  only. 
This  is  always  presupposing  that  they  have  no  extra 
sitting-room.  After  all,  a  dining-room  is  not  a  bad 
place  for  the  family  gathering,  having  a  large  table  as 
an  objective  plane  for  a  round  game,  which  also  serves 
as  a  support  for  reading  matter ;  while  from  an  eco- 
nomical point  of  view  it  preserves  the  drawing-rooms 
in  reception  stiffness  and  ceremonious  newness. 

The  apartment  they  entered  was  large  and  square, 
and  contained  the  regulation  chairs,  table,  and  silver 
and  crystal  loaded  sideboard. 

Upon  the  mantel-piece,  the  unflickering  light  from 
a  waxen  taper  burning  in  a  glass  of  oil  lent  an  un- 
usual air  of  Sabbath  quiet  to  the  room. 

"  I  have  '  Yahrzeit '  for  my  mother,"  explained 
Jo  Lewis,  glancing  toward  the  taper  after  greeting 
his  visitors.  He  sat  down  quietly  again. 


128  OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL. 

11  Do  you  always  burn  the  light?  "  asked  Arnold. 

"  Always.  A  light  once  a  year  to  a  mother's 
memory  is  not  much  to  ask  of  a  son." 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  lost  your  mother?" 
questioned  Ruth,  gently. 

Jo  Lewis  was  a  man  with  whom  she  had  little  in 
common.  To  her  he  seemed  to  have  but  one  idea, 
—  the  amassing  of  wealth.  With  her  more  intellec- 
tual cravings,  the  continual  striving  for  this,  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  higher  aspirations,  put  him  on  a 
plane  too  narrow  for  her  footing.  Unpolished  he 
certainly  was,  but  the  rough,  exposed  grain  of  his 
unhewn  nature  showed  many  strata  of  strength  and 
virility.  In  this  gentle  mood  a  tenderness  had  come 
into  view  that  drew  her  to  him  with  a  touch  of 
kinship. 

"Thirty  years,"  he  answered  musingly, —  "thirty 
years.  It  is  a  long  time,  Ruth  ;  but  every  year  when 
I  light  the  taper  it  seems  as  if  but  yesterday  I  was  a 
boy  crying  because  my  mother  had  gone  away  for- 
ever." The  strong  man  wiped  his  eyes. 

"  The  little  light  casts  a  long  ray,"  observed  Ruth. 
"  Love  builds  its  own  lighthouse,  and  by  its  gleaming 
we  travel  back  as  at  a  leap  to  that  which  seemed 
eternally  lost." 

Jo  Lewis  sighed.  Presently  the  thoughts  that  so 
strongly  possessed  him  found  an  outlet. 

"  There  was  a  woman  for  you  !  "  he  cried  with 
glowing  eyes.  "  Why,  Arnold,  you  talk  of  men  being 
great  financiers;  I  wonder  what  you  would  have 
said  to  the  powers  my  mother  showed.  We  were 
poor,  but  poor  to  a  degree  of  which  you  can  know 
nothing.  Well,  with  a  large  family  of  small  children 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  1 29 

she  struggled  on  alone  and  managed  to  keep  us  not 
only  alive,  but  clean  and  respectable.  In  onr  village 
Sara  Lewis  was  a  name  that  every  man  and  woman 
honored  as  if  it  belonged  to  a  princess.  Jennie  is  a 
good  woman,  but  life  is  made  easy  for  her.  I  often 
think  how  grand  my  mother  would  feel  if  she  were 
here,  and  I  were  able  to  give  her  every  comfort. 
God  knows  how  proud  and  happy  I  would  have  been 
to  say,  'You  have  struggled  enough,  Mother;  life  is 
going  to  be  a  heaven  on  earth  to  you  now.'  Well, 
well,  what  is  the  good  of  thinking  of  it  ?  To-morrow 
I  shall  go  down  town  and  deal  with  men,  not  memo- 
ries ;  it  is  more  profitable." 

"  Not  always,"  said  Arnold,  dryly.  The  two  men 
drifted  into  a  business  discussion  that  neither  Mrs. 
Lewis  nor  Ruth  cared  to  follow. 

"Are  you  quite  ready?"  asked  Mrs.  Lewis,  draw- 
ing her  chair  closer  to  Ruth's. 

"  Entirely,"  she  replied ;  "  we  start  on  the  8.30 
train  in  the  morning." 

"  You  will  be  gone  a  month,  will  you  not?  " 

"  Yes  ;  we  wish  to  get  back  for  the  holidays.  New 
Year's  falls  on  the  1 2th  of  September,  and  we  must 
give  the  house  its  usual  holiday  cleaning." 

"  I  have  begun  already.  Somehow  I  never  thought 
you  would  mind  being  away." 

"  Why,  we  always  go  to  the  Temple,  you  know ; 
and  I  would  not  miss  the  Atonement  services  for  a 
great  deal." 

"Why  don't  you  say  <Yom  Kippur,'  as  everybody 
else  does?  " 

"  Because  <  Atonement '  is  English  and  means  some- 
thing to  me.  Is  there  anything  odd  about  that?  " 

9 


13°  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  suppose  not.  By  the  way,  if  there  is  anything 
you  would  like  to  have  done  while  you  are  away,  let 
me  know." 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  to  everything.  You  might 
run  in  and  see  Louis  now  and  then." 

"  Louis,"  Mrs.  Lewis  called  instantly,  "  be  sure  to 
come  in  often  for  dinner  while  the  folks  are  gone." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  shall.  The  last  dinner  I  ate  with 
you  was  delicious  enough  to  do  away  with  any  verbal 
invitation  to  another." 

He  arose,  seeing  Ruth  had  risen  and  was  kissing 
her  cousins  good-by. 

Mrs.  Lewis  beamed  with  pleasure  at  his  words. 

'•  Now,  won't  you  take  something  before  you  go?  " 
she  asked.  "  Ruth,  I  have  the  loveliest  cakes." 

"  Oh,  Jennie,"  remonstrated  Ruth,  as  her  cousin 
bustled  off,  "we  have  just  dined." 

"  Let  her  enjoy  herself,"  observed  Louis  ;  "  she  is 
never  so  happy  as  when  she  is  feeding  somebody." 

The  clink  of  glasses  was  soon  heard,  and  Mrs. 
Lewis's  rosy  face  appeared  behind  a  tray  with  tiny 
glasses  and  a  plate  of  rich,  brown-looking  little  cakes. 

(t  Jo,  get  the  Kirsch.  You  must  try  one,  Ruth ;  I 
made  them  myself." 

When  they  had  complimented  her  on  her  cakes 
and  Louis  had  drunk  to  his  next  undertaking, 
suggested  by  Jo  Lewis,  the  visitors  departed. 

They  had  been  walking  in  almost  total  silence  for  a 
number  of  blocks,  when  Ruth  turned  suddenly  to  him 
and  said  with  great  earnestness,  — 

"  Louis,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  For  the 
last  few  days  you  have  hardly  spoken  to  me.  Have 
I  done  anything  to  annoy  you?  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          131 

"You?     Why,  no,  not  that  I  remember." 

"  Then,  please,  before  we  go  off,  be  friendly  with 
me  again." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  of  a  very  hilarious  tem- 
perament." 

"  Still,  you  manage  to  talk  to  others." 

"  Have  you  cared  very  much  who  talked  to  you 
lately?" 

Her  cheek  changed  color  in  the  starlight. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked. 

*'  Anything  or  nothing." 

Ruth  looked  at  him  haughtily. 

"  If  nothing,"  he  continued,  observing  her  askance 
from  lowered  lids,  "  what  I  am  about  to  say  will  be 
harmless.  If  anything,  I  still  hope  you  will  find  it 
pardonable." 

"  What  are  you  about  to  say?  " 

"  It  won't  take  long.     Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

And  the  stars  still  shone  up  in  heaven  ! 

Her  face  turned  white  as  a  Niphetos  rose. 

"  Louis,"  she  said  finally  and  speaking  with  diffi- 
culty, "  why  do  you  ask  me  this?  " 

"  Why  does  any  man  ask  a  woman  to  be  his  wife?" 

"  Generally  because  he  loves  her." 

"Well?" 

If  he  had  spoken  outright,  she  might  have  answered 
him ;  but  the  simple  monosyllable,  implying  a  world  of 
restrained  avowal,  confronted  her  like  a  wall,  before 
which  she  stood  silent. 

"  Answer  me,  Ruth." 

"  If  you  mean  it,  Louis,  I  am  very,  very  sorry." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  can  never  be  your  wife." 


I32  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Why  not?  " 

"  I  do  not  love  you  —  like  that." 

Silence  for  half  a  block,  the  man's  lips  pressed  hard 
together  under  his  mustache,  the  girl's  heart  beating 
suffocatingly.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  sounded 
oddly  clear  in  the  hushed  night  air. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  like  that '  ?  " 

Her  little  hand  was  clinched  tight  as  it  lay  on  his 
arm.  The  perfect  silence  that  followed  the  words  of 
each  made  every  movement  significant. 

"  You  know,  —  as  a  woman  loves  the  man  she 
would  marry,  not  as  she  loves  a  brotherly  cousin." 

"  The  difference  is  not  clear  to  me  —  but  —  how 
did  you  learn  the  difference?  " 

"How  dare  you?"  she  cried,  flashing  a  pair  of 
dark,  wet  eyes  upon  him. 

"  In  such  a  case,  '  I  dare  do  all  that  may  become 
a  man.'  Besides,  even  if  there  is  a  difference,  I 
still  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  You  would  not  regret 
it,  Ruth,  I  think." 

His  voice  was  not  soft,  but  there  was  a  certain 
strained  pleading  about  it  that  pained  her  inexpres- 
sibly. 

"  Louis,"  she  said,  with  slow  distinctness,  her  hand 
moving  down  until  it  touched  his,  "  I  never  thought 
of  this  as  a  possibility.  You  know  how  much  I  have 
always  loved  you,  dear ;  but  oh,  Louis,  will  it  hurt  you 
very  much,  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  have  to  say  no,  I 
cannot  be  your  wife?  " 

"  Wait.  I  wish  you  to  consider  this  well.  I  am 
offering  you  all  that  I  have  in  the  world;  it  is  not 
despicable.  Your  family,  I  know,  would  be  pleased. 
Besides,  it  would  be  well  for  you  —  God  knows,  not 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  133 

because  I  am  what  I  am,  but  for  other  reasons. 
Wait.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  answer  me  till  you  have 
thought  it  over.  You  know  me ;  I  am  no  saint,  but  a 
man  who  would  give  his  life  for  you.  I  ask  of  you 
nothing  but  the  right  to  guard  yours.  Do  not  answer 
me  now." 

They  had  turned  the  corner  of  their  block. 

"  I  need  no  time/'  said  Ruth,  with  a  sad  sob  in  her 
voice ;  "  I  cannot  marry  you,  Louis.  My  answer 
would  be  the  same  to-morrow  or  at  the  end  of  all 
time,  —  I  can  never,  never  be  your  wife." 

"  It  is  then  as  I  feared,  —  anything." 

The  girl's  bowed  head  was  the  only  answer  to  his 
bitter  words. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  hard  laugh,  "that  ends  it, 
then.  Don't  let  it  bother  you.  Your  answer  has  put 
it  entirely  from  my  mind.  I  should  be  pleased  if  you 
would  forget  it  as  readily  as  I  shall.  I  hardly  think 
we  shall  meet  in  the  morning.  I  am  going  down  to 
the  club  now.  Good-by ;  enjoy  yourself." 

He  held  out  his  hand  carelessly;  Ruth  carried  it 
in  both  hers  to  her  lips.  Being  at  the  gate,  he  lifted 
his  hat  with  a  smile  and  walked  away.  Ruth  did 
not  smile ;  neither  did  Arnold  when  he  had  turned 
from  her. 


134  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

TJEACHAM'S  lies  in  a  dimple  of  the  inner  coast 
\J  range,  and  is  reached  nowadays  through  one 
of  the  finest  pieces  of  engineering  skill  in  the  State. 
The  tortuous  route  through  the  mountains,  over 
trestle-bridges  that  span  what  seem,  from  the  car- 
windows,  like  bottomless  chasms,  needs  must  hold 
some  compensation  at  the  end  to  counterbalance  the 
fears  engendered  on  the  way.  The  higher  one  goes 
the  more  beautiful  becomes  the  scenery  among  the 
wild,  marvellous  redwoods  that  stand  like  mammoth 
guides  pointing  heavenward ;  and  Beacham's  realizes 
expectation. 

It  is  a  quiet  little  place,  with  its  one  hotel  and  two 
attached  cottages,  its  old,  disused  saw-mill,  its  tiny 
schoolhouse  beyond  the  fairy- like  woods,  its  one 
general  merchandise  store,  where  cheese  and  calico, 
hats  and  hoes,  ham  and  hominy,  are  forthcoming 
upon  solicitation.  It  is  by  no  means  a  fashionable 
resort;  the  Levices  had  searched  for  something  as 
unlike  the  Del  Monte  and  Coronado  as  milk  is  unlike 
champagne.  They  were  looking  for  a  pretty,  health- 
ful spot,  with  good  accommodations  and  few  social 
attractions,  and  Beacham's  offered  all  this. 

They   were   not   disappointed.      Ruth's   anticipa- 
tion was  fulfilled  when  she  saw  the  river.     Russian 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          135 

River  is  about  as  pretty  a  stream  as  one  can  view  upon 
a  summer's  day.  Here  at  Beacham's  it  is  very  narrow 
and  shallow,  with  low,  shelving  beaches  on  either 
bank ;  but  in  the  tiny  row-boat  which  she  immediately 
secured,  Ruth  pushed  her  way  into  enchantment. 
The  river  winds  in  and  out  through  exquisite  coves 
entangled  in  a  wilderness  of  brambles  and  lace-like 
ferns  that  are  almost  transparent  as  they  bend  and  dip 
toward  the  silvery  waters ;  while,  climbing  over  the 
rocky  cliffs,  run  bracken  and  the  fragrant  yerba- 
buena,  till,  on  high,  they  creep  as  if  in  awe  about  the 
great  redwoods  and  pines  of  the  forest. 

Morning  and  night  Ruth,  in  her  little  boat,  wooed 
the  lisping  waters.  Often  of  a  morning  her  mother 
was  her  companion  ;  later  on,  her  father  or  little  Ethel 
Tyrrell ;  in  the  evening  one  of  the  Tyrrell  boys,  gener- 
ally Will,  was  her  gallant  chevalier.  But  it  was  always 
Ruth  who  rowed,  —  Ruth  in  her  pretty  sailor  blouses, 
with  her  strong  round  arms  and  steadily  browning 
hands ;  Ruth,  whose  creamy  face  and  neck  remained 
provokingly  unreddened,  and  took  on  only  a  little 
deeper  tint,  as  if  a  dash  of  bistre  had  been  softly  ap- 
plied. It  was  pleasant  enough  rowing  down-stream 
with  Ruth ;  she  always  knew  when  to  sing  "  Nancy 
Lee,"  and  when  "White  Wings"  sounded  prettiest. 
There  were  numerous  coves  too,  where  she  loved  to 
beach  her  boat,  —  here  to  fill  a  flask  with  honey-sweet 
water  from  a  rollicking  little  spring  that  came  merrily 
dashing  over  the  rocks,  here  to  gather  some  delicate 
ferns  or  maiden-hair  with  which  to  decorate  the  table, 
or  the  trailing  yerba-buena  for  festooning  the  boat. 
But  Ethel  Tyrrell,  aged  three,  thought  they  had  the 
"dolliest"  time  when  she  and  Ruth,  having  rowed  a 


136  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

space  out  of  sight,  jumped  out,  and  taking  off  their 
shoes  and  stockings  and  making  other  necessary 
preliminaries  to  wading,  pattered  along  over  the 
pebbly  bottom,  screaming  when  a  sharp  stone  came 
against  their  tender  feet,  and  laughing  gleefully  when 
the  water  rose  a  little  higher  than  they  had  bargained 
for ;  then,  when  quite  tired,  they  would  retire  to  the 
beach  or  the  boat  and  dry  themselves  with  the  soft 
damask  of  the  sun. 

Ruth  was  happy.  There  were  moments  when  the 
remembrance  of  her  last  meeting  with  Louis  came 
like  a  summer  cloud  over  the  ineffable  brightness  of 
her  sky,  and  she  felt  a  sharp  pang  at  her  heart; 
still,  she  thought,  it  was  different  with  Louis.  His 
feeling  for  her  could  not  be  so  strong  as  to  make  him 
suffer  poignantly  over  her  refusal.  She  was  almost 
convinced  that  he  had  asked  her  more  from  a  whim 
of  good-fellowship,  a  sudden  desire,  perhaps  a  prefer- 
ence for  her  close  companionship  when  he  did  marry, 
than  from  any  deeper  emotion.  In  consequence  of 
these  reflections  her  musings  were  not  so  sad  as  they 
might  otherwise  have  been. 

Her  parents  laughed  to  see  how  she  revelled  in  the 
freedom  of  the  old-fashioned  little  spot,  which,  though 
on  the  river,  was  decidedly  "  out  of  the  swim."  It 
was  late  in  the  season,  and  there  were  few  guests  at 
the  hotel.  The  Levices  occupied  one  of  the  cot- 
tages, the  other  being  used  by  a  pair  of  belated 
turtle-doves,  —  the  wife  a  blushing  dot  of  a  woman,  the 
husband  an  overgrown  youth  who  bent  over  her  in 
their  walks  like  a  devoted  weeping-willow ;  there  was 
a  young  man  with  a  consumptive  cough,  a  natty  little 
stenographer  off  on  a  solitary  vacation,  and  the 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  137 

golden-haired  Tyrrell  family,  little  and  big,  for  Papa 
Tyrrell  could  not  enjoy  his  hard-earned  rest  without 
one  and  all.  They  were  such  a  refined,  happy,  sweet 
family,  for  all  their  pinched  circumstances,  that  the 
Levices  were  attracted  to  them  at  once.  To  be 
with  Mrs.  Tyrrell  one  whole  day,  Mrs.  Levice  said 
was  a  liberal  education,  —  so  bright,  so  uncomplain- 
ing, so  ambitious  for  her  children  was  she,  and  such 
a  help  and  inspiration  to  her  hard-worked  husband. 
Mr.  Levice  tramped  about  the  woods  with  Tyrrell  and 
brier-wood  pipes,  and  appreciated  the  moral  bravery 
of  a  man  who  struggled  on  with  a  happy  face  and 
small  hope  for  any  earthly  rest.  But  the  children  !  — 
Floy  with  her  dreamy  face  and  busy  sketch-book, 
Will  with  his  halo  of  golden  hair,  his  manly  figure  and 
broad,  open  ambitions,  Boss  with  his  busy  step  and 
fishing-tackle,  and  baby  Ethel,  the  wee  darling,  who 
ran  after  Ruth  the  first  time  she  saw  her  and  begged 
her  to  come  and  play  with  her;  ever  since,  she 
formed  a  part  of  the  drapery  of  Ruth's  skirt  or  a 
rather  cumbersome  necklace  about  her  neck.  Every 
girl  who  has  been  debarred  the  blessing  of  babies  in 
the  house  loves  them  promiscuously  and  passionately. 
Ruth  was  no  exception ;  it  amused  the  ladies  to 
watch  her  cuddle  the  child  and  wonder  aloud  at  all 
her  baby- talk. 

Will  was  her  next  favorite  satellite.  A  young  girl 
with  a  winsome,  sympathetic  face,  and  hearty  manner, 
can  easily  become  the  confidante  of  a  fine  fellow  of 
fourteen.  Will,  with  his  arm  tucked  through  hers, 
would  saunter  around  after  dusk  and  tell  her  all  his 
ambitions. 

The    soft,    starry  evenings   up   in    the    mountains, 


138  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

where  heaven  seems  so  near,  are  just  the  time  for 
such  talk. 

They  were  walking  thus  one  evening  toward  the 
river,  Ruth  in  a  creamy  gown  and  with  a  white  bur- 
nous thrown  over  her  head,  Will  holding  his  hat  in  his 
hand  and  letting  the  sweet  air  play  through  his  hair, 
as  he  loved  to  do. 

"  What  do  you  think  are  the  greatest  professions, 
Miss  Ruth?"  asked  the  boy  suddenly. 

"  Well,  law  is  one  —  "  she  began. 

"That's  the  way  Papa  begins,"  he  interrupted  im- 
patiently ;  "  but  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think  is  the 
greatest.  Guess,  now." 

"  The  ministry  ?  "  she  ventured. 

"  Oh,  of  course ;  but  I  'm  not  good  enough  for 
that,  —  that  takes  exceptions.  Guess  again." 

"  Well,  there  are  the  fine  arts,  or  soldiery,  —  that 
is  it.  You  would  be  a  brave  soldier,  Willikins,  my 
man." 

"  No,  sir,"  he  replied,  flinging  back  his  head ;  "  I 
don't  want  to  take  lives ;  I  want  to  save  them." 

"  You  mean  a  physician,  Will?  " 

"  That 's  it  —  but  not  exactly  —  I  mean  a  surgeon. 
Don't  you  think  that  takes  bravery?  And  it's  a 
long  sight  better  than  being  a  soldier;  he  draws 
blood  to  kill,  we  do  it  to  save.  What  do  you  think, 
Miss  Ruth?  " 

"  Indeed,  you  are  right,"  she  answered  dreamily, 
her  thoughts  wandering  beyond  the  river.  So  they 
walked  along;  and  as  they  were  about  to  descend  the 
slope,  a  man  in  overalls  and  carrying  a  leather  bag 
came  suddenly  upon  them  in  the  gloaming.  He 
stood  stock-still,  his  mouth  gaping  wide. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  139 

When  Ruth  saw  it  was  Ben,  the  steward,  she 
laughed. 

"  Why,  Ben  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

The  man's  mouth  slowly  closed,  and  his  hand  went 
up  to  his  cap. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  Miss,  —  I  mean  Her  pardon, 
—  the  Lord  forgive  me,  I  took  you  for  the  Lady  Ma- 
donna and  the  blessed  Boy  with  the  shining  hair. 
Now,  don't  be  telling  of  me,  will  you?  " 

"  Indeed,  we  won't ;  we  '11  keep  the  pretty  com- 
pliment to  ourselves.  Have  you  the  mail?  I  wonder 
if  there  is  a  letter  for  me." 

Ben  immediately  drew  out  his  little  pack,  and 
handed  her  two.  It  was  still  light  enough  to  read  ; 
and  as  Ben  moved  on,  she  stood  and  opened  them. 

"  This,"  she  announced  in  a  matter-of-course  way, 
"  is  from  Miss  Dorothy  Gwynne,  who  requests  the 
pleasure  of  my  company  at  a  high-tea  next  Saturday. 
That,  or  the  hay- ride,  Will  ?  And  this  —  this  —  " 

It  was  a  simple  envelope  addressed  to 

Miss  RUTH  LEVICE  — 

Beacham's  — 

.  .  .  County  — 
Cal. 

It  was  the  sight  of  the  dashes  that  caused  the 
hiatus  in  her  sentence,  and  made  her  heart  give  one 
great  rushing  bound.  The  enclosure  was  to  the 
point. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Aug.  18,  188 — . 
Miss   RUTH   LEVICE  : 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  That  you  may  not  denounce 
me  as  too  presumptuous,  I  shall  at  once  explain  that 
I  am  writing  this  at  Bob's  urgent  desire.  He  has  at 


14°  OTHER    THINGS  BETNG  EQUAL. 

length  got  the  position  at  the  florist's,  and  tells  me 
to  tell  you  that  he  is  now  happy.  I  dropped  in  there 
last  night;  and  when  he  gave  me  this  message,  I  told 
him  that  I  feared  you  would  take  it  as  an  advertise- 
ment. He  merely  smiled,  picked  up  a  Marechal  Niel 
that  lay  on  the  counter,  and  said,  "  Drop  this  in.  It 's  my 
mark ;  she  '11  understand."  So  here  are  Bob's  rose  and 
my  apology. 

HERBERT   KEMP. 

She  was  pale  when  she  turned  round  to  the  courte- 
ously waiting  boy.  It  was  a  very  cold  note,  and  she 
put  it  in  her  pocket  to  keep  it  warm.  The  rose  she 
showed  to  Will,  and  told  him  the  story  of  the  sender. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  when  she  had  fin- 
ished, "  a  doctor  has  the  greatest  opportunity  in  the 
world  to  be  great  —  and  a  surgeon  comes  near  it  ? 
I  say,  Miss  Ruth,  your  Dr.  Kemp  must  be  a  brick. 
Isn't  he?" 

"  Boys  would  call  him  so,"  she  answered,  shivering 
slightly. 

It  was  so  like  him,  she  thought,  to  fulfil  Bob's  re- 
quest in  his  hearty,  friendly  way;  she  supposed  he 
wanted  her  to  understand  that  he  wrote  to  her  only 
as  Bob's  amanuensis,  —  it  was  plain  enough.  And 
yet,  and  yet,  she  thought  passionately,  it  would 
have  been  no  more  than  common  etiquette  to  send  a 
friendly  word  from  himself  to  her  mother.  Still  the 
note  was  not  thrown  away.  Girls  are  so  irrational  ; 
if  they  cannot  have  the  hand-shake,  they  will  content 
themselves  with  a  sight  of  the  glove. 

And  Ruth  in  the  warm,  throbbing,  summer  days 
was  happy.  She  was  not  always  active ;  there  were 
long  afternoons  when  mere  existence  was  intensely 
beautiful.  To  lie  at  full  length  upon  the  soft  turf  in 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  14! 

the  depths  of  the  small  enchanted  woods,  and  hear 
and  feel  the  countless  spells  of  Nature,  was  unspeak- 
able rapture. 

"  Ah,  Floy,"  she  cried  one  afternoon,  as  she  lay 
with  her  face  turned  up  to  the  great  green  boughs 
that  seemed  pencilled  against  the  azure  sky,  "  if  one 
could  paint  what  one  feels  !  Look  at  these  silent, 
living  trees  that  stand  in  all  their  grandeur  under 
some  mighty  spell ;  see  how  the  wonderful  heaven 
steals  through  the  leaves  and  throws  its  blue  softness 
upon  the  twilight  gloom ;  here  at  our  feet  nestle  the 
soft,  green  ferns,  and  over  all  is  the  indescribable 
fragrance  of  the  redwoods.  Turn  there,  to  your 
right,  little  artist,  high  up  on  that  mountain;  can 
you  see  through  the  shimmering  haze  a  great  team 
moving  as  if  through  the  air  ?  It  is  like  the  vision  of 
the  Bethshemites  in  Dore's  mystic  work,  when  in 
the  valley  they  lifted  up  their  eyes  and  beheld  the 
ark  returning.  Oh,  Floy,  it  is  not  Nature ;  it  is  God. 
And  who  can  paint  God  ?  ' ' 

"  No  one.  If  one  could  paint  Him,  He  would  no 
longer  be  great,"  answered  the  girl,  resting  her  sober 
eyes  upon  Ruth's  enraptured  countenance. 

One  afternoon  Ruth  took  a  book  and  Ethel  over  the 
tramway  to  this  fairy  spot.  It  was  very  warm  and 
still.  Mrs.  Levice  had  swung  herself  to  sleep  in  the 
hammock,  and  Mr.  Levice  was  dozing  and  talking  in 
snatches  to  the  Tyrrells,  who  were  likewise  resting  on 
the  Levices'  veranda.  All  Nature  was  drowsy,  as  Ruth 
wandered  off  with  the  little  one,  who  chattered  on  as 
was  her  wont. 

"  Me  and  you  's  yunnin'  away,"  she  chatted ;  "  we  's 
goin'  to  a  fewest,  and  by  and  by  two  'ittle  birdies 


142  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL, 

will  cover  us  up  wid  leaves.  My  !  won't  my  mamma 
be  sorry?  No  darlin'  'ittle  Ethel  to  pank  and  tiss  no 
more.  Poor  Mamma  !  " 

"  Does  Ethel  think  Mamma  likes  to  spank  her?" 

"  Yes ;  Mamma  does  des  what  she  likes." 

"  But  it  is  only  when  Ethel  is  naughty  that  Mamma 
spanks  her.  Here,  sweetheart,  let  me  tie  your  sun- 
bonnet  tighter.  Now  Ruth  is  going  to  lie  here  and 
read,  and  you  can  play  hide-and-seek  all  about  these 
trees." 

"  Can  I  go  wound  and  sit  on  dat  log  by  a 
bwook?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I 's  afwaid.     I 's  dweffully  afwaid." 

"  Why,  you  can  turn  round  and  talk  to  me  all  the 
time." 

"  But  nobody  '11  be  sitting  by  me  at  all." 

"  I  am  here  just  where  you  can  see  me ;  besides, 
God  will  be  right  next  to  you." 

"Will  He?     Ven  all  yight." 

Ruth  took  off  her  hat  and  prepared  to  enjoy  her- 
self. As  her  head  touched  the  green  earth,  she  saw 
the  little  maiden  seat  herself  on  the  log,  and  turn- 
ing her  face  sideways,  say  in  her  pleasant,  piping 
voice,  — 

"How-de-do,  Dod?"  And  having  made  her  ac- 
knowledgments, all  her  fears  vanished. 

Ruth  laughed  softly  to  herself,  and  straightway 
began  to  read.  The  afternoon  burned  itself  away. 
Ethel  played  and  sang  and  danced  about  her,  quite 
oblivious  of  the  heat,  till,  tired  out,  she  threw  herself 
into  Ruth's  arms. 

"  Sing  by-low  now,"  she  demanded  sleepily ;  "  pay 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  143 

it 's  night,  and  you  and  me  's  in  a  yockin'- chair 
goin'  to  by-low  land." 

Ruth  realized  that  the  child  was  weary,  and  draw- 
ing her  little  head  to  her  bosom,  threw  off  the  huge 
sunbonnet  and  ruffled  up  the  damp,  golden  locks. 

"  What  shall  I  sing,  darling?  "  she  mused  :  she  was 
unused  to  singing  babies  to  sleep.  Suddenly  a  little 
kindergarten  melody  she  had  heard  came  to  her,  and 
she  sang  softly  in  her  rich,  tender  contralto  the 
swinging  cradle -song  : — 

"  In  a  cradle,  on  the  treetop, 

Sleeps  a  tiny  bird  ; 
Sweeter  sound  than  mother's  chirping 

Never  yet  was  heard. 
See,  the  green  leaves  spread  like  curtains 

Round  the  tiny  bed, 
While  the  mother's  wings,  outstretching, 

Shield  —  the  —  tiny  —  head  ? " 

As  her  voice  died  slowly  into  silence,  she  found 
Ethel  looking  over  her  shoulder  and  nodding  her 
head. 

"  No ;  I  won't  tell,"  she  said  loudly. 

"  Tell  what?  "  asked  Ruth,  amused. 

"  Hush  !     He  put  his  finger  on  his  mouf —  sh  !  " 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  turning  her  head  hurriedly. 
Not  being  able  to  see  through  the  tree,  she  started  to 
her  feet,  still  holding  the  child.  Between  two  trees 
stood  the  stalwart  figure  of  Dr.  Kemp,  —  Dr.  Kemp  in 
loose,  light  gray  tweeds  and  white  flannel  shirt;  on 
the  back  of  his  head  was  a  small,  soft  felt  hat,  which 
he  lifted  as  she  turned,  —  a  wave  of  color  springing 
to  his  cheek  with  the  action.  As  for  Ruth,  —  a 
woman's  face  dare  not  speak  sometimes. 


144  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL, 

"Did  I  startle  you?"  he  asked,  coming  slowly 
forward,  hat  in  hand,  the  golden  shafts  of  the  sun 
falling  upon  his  head  and  figure. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  trying  to  speak  calmly,  and 
failing,  dropped  into  silence. 

She  made  no  movement  toward  him,  but  let  the 
child  glide  softly  down  till  she  stood  at  her  side. 

"  I  interrupted  you,"  he  continued ;  "  will  you 
shake  hands  with  me,  nevertheless?" 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  proffered  one,  which 
lingered  in  the  touch ;  and  then,  without  looking  at 
her,  he  stooped  and  spoke  to  the  child.  In  that 
moment  she  had  time  to  compose  herself. 

"  Do  you  often  come  up  this  way?  "  she  questioned. 

He  turned  from  the  child,  straightened  himself, 
and  leaning  one  arm  against  the  tree,  answered,  — 

"  Once  or  twice  every  summer  I  run  away  from 
humanity  for  a  few  days,  and  generally  find  myself  in 
this  part  of  the  country.  This  is  one  of  my  select 
spots.  I  knew  you  would  ferret  it  out." 

"  It  is  very  lovely  here.  But  we  are  going 
home  now ;  the  afternoon  is  growing  old.  Come, 
Ethel." 

A  shadow  fell  upon  his  dark  eyes  as  she  spoke, 
scarcely  looking  at  him.  Why  should  she  hurry  off 
at  his  coming? 

"  I  am  sorry  my  presence  disturbs  you,"  he  said 
quietly ;  "  but  I  can  easily  go  away  again.' 

"  Was  I  so  rude  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  with  a 
sudden  smile.  "  I  did  not  mean  it  so ;  but  Ethel's 
mother  will  want  her  now." 

"  Ethel  wants  to  be  carried,"  begged  the  child. 

"All  right;  Ruth  will  carry  you,"  and  she  stooped 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          145 

to  raise  her ;  but  as  she  did  so,  Kemp's  strong  hand 
was  laid  upon  her  arm  and  held  her  back. 

"  Ethel  will  ride  home  on  my  shoulder,"  he  said  in 
the  gay,  winning  voice  he  knew  how  so  well  to  use 
with  children.  The  baby's  blue  eyes  smiled  in  re- 
sponse to  his  as  he  swung  her  lightly  to  his  broad 
shoulder.  There  is  nothing  prettier  to  a  woman  than 
to  see  the  confidence  that  a  little  child  reposes  in  a 
strong  man. 

So  through  the  mellow,  golden  sunlight  they 
strolled  slowly  homeward. 


10 


146  OTHER  THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

MR.  LEVICE,  sauntering  down  the  garden-path, 
saw  the  trio  approaching.  For  a  moment  he 
did  not  recognize  the  gentleman  in  his  summer  attire. 
When  he  did,  surprise,  then  pleasure,  then  a  spirit  of 
inquietude,  took  possession  of  him.  He  had  been 
unexpectedly  startled  on  Ruth's  birthnight  by  a  vague 
something  in  Kemp's  eyes.  The  feeling,  however, 
had  vanished  gradually  in  the  knowledge  that  the 
doctor  always  had  a  peculiarly  intent  gaze,  and,  more- 
over, no  one  could  have  helped  appreciating  her 
loveliness  that  night.  This,  of  itself,  will  bring  a  soft- 
ness into  a  man's  manner ;  and  without  doubt  his  fears 
had  been  groundless,  —  fears  that  he  had  not  dared 
to  put  into  words.  For  old  man  as  he  was,  he  real- 
ized that  Dr.  Kemp's  strong  personality  was  such  as 
would  prove  dangerously  seductive  to  any  woman 
whom  he  cared  to  honor  with  his  favor ;  but  with  a 
l<  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  "  desire,  he  had  put  the 
question  from  him.  He  could  have  taken  his  oath 
on  Ruth's  heart-wholeness,  yet  now,  as  he  recognized 
her  companion,  his  misgivings  returned  threefold. 
The  courteous  gentleman,  however,  was  at  his  ease  as 
they  came  up. 

"This  is  a  surprise,  Doctor,"  he  exclaimed  cor- 
dially, opening  the  gate  and  extending  his  hand. 
<;  Who  would  have  thought  of  meeting  you  here?  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  147 

Kemp  grasped  his  hand  heartily. 

"  I  am  a  sort  of  surprise-party,"  he  answered, 
swinging  Ethel  to  the  ground  and  watching  her 
scamper  off  to  the  hotel;  "and  what  is  more,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  him,  "  I  have  not  brought  a 
hamper,  which  makes  one  of  me." 

"You  calculate  without  your  host,"  responded 
Levice ;  "  this  is  a  veritable  land  of  milk  and  honey. 
Come  up  and  listen  to  my  wife  rhapsodize." 

"How  is  she?"  he  asked,  turning  with  him  and 
catching  a  glimpse  of  Ruth's  vanishing  figure. 

"  Feeling  quite  well,"  replied  Levice ;  "  she  is  all 
impatience  now  for  a  delirious  winter  season." 

"  I  thought  so,"  laughed  the  doctor;  "but  if  you 
take  my  advice,  you  will  draw  the  bit  slightly." 

Mrs.  Levice  was  delighted  to  see  him;  she  said 
it  was  like  the  sight  of  a  cable-car  in  a  desert.  He 
protested  at  such  a  stupendous  comparison,  and  in- 
sisted that  she  make  clear  that  the  dummy  was  not 
included.  The  short  afternoon  glided  into  evening, 
and  Dr.  Kemp  went  over  to  the  hotel  and -dined  at 
the  Levices'  table. 

Ruth,  in  a  white  wool  gown,  sat  opposite  him.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  dined  with  them ;  and  he 
enjoyed  a  singular  feeling  over  the  situation.  He 
noticed  that  although  Mrs.  Levice  kept  up  an  almost 
incessant  flow  of  talk,  she  ate  a  hearty  meal,  and  that 
Ruth,  who  was  unusually  quiet,  tasted  scarcely  any- 
thing. Her  father  also  observed  it,  and  resolved 
upon  a  course  of  strict  surveillance.  He  was  glad  to 
hear  that  the  doctor  had  to  leave  on  the  early  morn- 
ing's train,  though,  of  course,  he  did  not  say  so.  As 
they  strolled  about  afterward,  he  managed  to  keep 


148  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

his  daughter  with  him  and  allowed  Kemp  to  appro- 
priate his  wife. 

They  finally  drifted  to  the  cottage- steps,  and  were 
enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  night  when  Will  Tyrrell 
presented  himself  before  them. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat  as  he 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  "  Mr.  Levice,  Father 
says  he  has  at  last  scared  up  two  other  gentlemen ; 
and  will  you  please  come  over  and  play  a  rubber  of 
whist?" 

Mr.  Levice  felt  himself  a  victim  of  circumstances. 
He  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  been  looking  for  a  couple 
of  opponents,  and  had  almost  given  up  the  search. 
Now,  when  he  decidedly  objected  to  moving,  it  would 
have  been  heartless  not  to  go. 

"  Don't  consider  me,"  said  the  doctor,  observing 
his  hesitancy.  "  If  it  will  relieve  you,  I  assure  you 
I  shall  not  miss  you  in  the  least." 

"  Go  right  ahead,  Jules,"  urged  his  wife ;  "  Ruth 
and  I  will  take  care  of  the  doctor." 

If  she  had  promised  to  take  care  of  Ruth,  it  would 
have  been  more  to  his  mind ;  but  since  his  wife 
was  there,  what  harm  could  accrue  that  his  presence 
would  prevent  ?  So  with  a  sincere  apology  he  went 
over  to  the  hotel. 

He  hardly  appreciated  what  an  admirable  aide  he 
had  left  behind  him  in  his  wife. 

Kemp  sat  upon  the  top  step,  and  leaned  his  back 
against  the  railing ;  although  outwardly  he  kept  up  a 
constant  low  run  of  conversation  with  Mrs.  Levice, 
who  swayed  to  and  fro  in  her  rocker,  he  was  intently 
conscious  of  Ruth's  white  figure  perched  on  the 
window-sill. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          149 

How  Mrs.  Levice  happened  to  broach  the  subject, 
Ruth  never  knew ;  but  she  was  rather  startled  when 
she  perceived  that  Kemp  was  addressing  her. 

"  I  should  like  to  show  my  prowess  to  you,  Miss 
Levice." 

"  In  what?  "  she  asked,  somewhat  dazed. 

"Ruth,  Ruth,"  laughed  her  mother,  "do  you  mean 
to  say  you  have  not  heard  a  word  of  all  my  glowing 
compliments  on  your  rowing?  " 

"  And  I  was  telling  your  mother  that  in  all  mod- 
esty I  was  considered  a  fine  oar  at  my  Alma  Mater." 

"And  I  hazarded  the  suggestion,"  added  Mrs. 
Levice,  "  that  as  it  is  such  a  beautiful  night,  there  is 
nothing  to  prevent  your  taking  a  little  row,  and  then 
each  can  judge  of  the  other's  claim  to  superiority?  " 

"  My  claim  has  never  been  justly  established,"  said 
Ruth.  "  I  have  never  allowed  any  one  to  usurp 
my  oars." 

"  As  yet,"  corrected  Kemp.  "  Then  will  you  wrap 
something  about  you  and  come  down  to  the  river?  " 

"  Certainly  she  will,"  answered  her  mother;  "run 
in  and  get  some  wraps,  Ruth." 

"You  will  come  too,  Mamma?  " 

"  Of  course ;  but  considering  Dr.  Kemp's  length, 
a  third  in  your  little  boat  will  be  the  proverbial 
trumpery.  Still,  I  suppose  I  can  rely  on  you  two 
crack  oarsmen,  though  you  know  the  slightest  trem- 
ble in  the  boat  in  the  fairest  weather  is  likely  to 
create  a  squall  on  my  part." 

If  Dr.  Kemp  wished  to  row,  he  should  row;  and 
since  the  Jewish  Mrs.  Grundy  was  not  on  hand,  any- 
thing harmlessly  enjoyable  was  permissible. 

Ruth  went  indoors.     This  was  certainly  something 


ISO  OTHER    THINGS  BEIXG  EQUAL. 

she  had  not  bargained  for.  How  could  her  mother 
be  so  blind  as  not  to  know  or  feel  her  desire  to  evade 
Dr.  Kemp?  She  felt  a  positive  contempt  for  herself 
that  his  presence  should  affect  her  as  it  did;  she 
dared  not  look  at  him  lest  her  heart  should  flutter  to 
her  eyes.  Probably  the  display  amused  him.  What 
was  she  to  him  anyway  but  a  girl  with  whom  he  could 
flirt  in  his  idle  moments?  Well  (with  a  passionate 
fling  of  her  arms),  she  would  extinguish  her  uncontrol- 
lable little  beater  for  the  nonce ;  she  would  meet  and 
answer  every  one  of  his  long  glances  in  kind. 

She  wound  a  black  lace  shawl  around  her  head,  and 
with  some  wraps  for  her  mother,  came  out. 

"  Had  n't  you  better  put  something  over  your 
shoulders?  "  he  asked  deferentially  as  she  appeared. 

"  And  disgust  the  night  with  lack  of  appreciation?" 

She  turned  to  a  corner  of  the  porch  and  lifted  a 
pair  of  oars  to  her  shoulder. 

"  W7hy,"  he  said  in  surprise,  coming  toward  her, 
"  you  keep  your  oars  at  home?  " 

"  On  the  principle  of  (  neither  a  borrower  nor  a 
lender  be ; '  we  find  it  saves  both  time  and  spleen." 

She  held  them  lightly  in  place  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Allow  me,"  he  said,  placing  his  hand  upon  thfe 
oars. 

A  spirit  of  contradiction  took  possession  of  her. 

"Indeed,  no,"  she  answered;  "why  should  I? 
They  are  not  at  all  heavy." 

He  gently  lifted  her  resisting  fingers  one  by  one 
and  raised  the  broad  bone  of  contention  to  his 
shoulder.  Then  without  a  look  he  turned  and  offered 
his  arm  to  Mrs.  Levice. 

The  crickets  chirped  in  the  hedges ;  now  and  then 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  15 1 

a  firefly  flashed  before  them ;  the  trees  seemed 
wrapped  in  silent  awe  at  the  majesty  of  the  bewilder- 
ing heavens.  As  they  approached  the  river,  the  faint 
susurra  came  to  them,  mingled  with  the  sound  of  a 
guitar  and  some  one  singing  in  the  distance. 

"Others  are  enjoying  themselves  also,"  he  remarked 
as  their  feet  touched  the  pebbly  beach.  A  faint 
crescent  moon  shone  over  the  water.  Ruth  went 
straight  to  the  little  boat  aground  on  the  shore. 

"  It  looks  like  a  cockle-shell,"  he  said,  as  he  put 
one  foot  in  after  shoving  it  off.  "  Will  you  sit  in  the 
stern  or  the  bow,  Mrs.  Levice?  " 

"  In  the  bow ;  I  dislike  to  see  dangers  before  we 
come  to  them." 

He  helped  her  carefully  to  her  place ;  she  thanked 
him  laughingly  for  his  exceptionally  strong  arm,  and 
he  turned  to  Ruth. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  move  from  my  place," 
she  said  in  defiant  mischief,  standing  motionless  beside 
the  boat. 

"Your  place?  Ah,  yes;  now,"  he  said,  holding 
out  his  hand  to  her,  "  will  you  step  in?  " 

She  took  his  hand  and  stepped  in ;  they  were  both 
"standing,  and  as  the  little  bark  swayed  he  made  a 
movement  to  catch  hold  of  her. 

"You  had  better  sit  down,"  he  said,  motioning  to 
the  rower's  seat. 

"And  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  shall  sit  beside  you  and  use  the  other  oar,"  he 
answered  nonchalantly,  smiling  down  at  her. 

With  a  half-pleased  feeling  of  discomfiture  Ruth 
seated  herself  in  the  stern,  whereupon  Kemp  sat  in 
the  contested  throne. 


152  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  You  will  have  to  excuse  my  turning  my  back  on 
you,  Mrs.  Levice,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"  That  is  no  hindrance  to  my  volubility,  I  am  glad 
to  say ;  a  back  is  not  very  inspiring  or  expressive,  but 
Ruth  can  tell  me  when  you  look  bored  if  I  wax  too 
discursive." 

It  was  a  tiny  boat ;  and  seated  thus,  Kemp's  knees 
were  not  half  a  foot  from  Ruth's  white  gown. 

"Will  you  direct  me?"  he  said,  as  he  swept 
around.  "I  have  not  rowed  on  this  river  for  two 
or  three  years." 

"You  can  keep  straight  ahead  for  some  distance," 
she  said,  leaning  back  in  her  seat. 

She  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  easy  motion  of  his 
figure  as  he  rowed  lightly  down  the  river.  His  flannel 
shirt,  low  at  the  throat,  showed  his  strong  white 
neck  rising  like  a  column  from  his  broad  shoulders, 
and  his  dark  face  with  the  steady  gray  eyes  looked 
across  at  her  with  grave  sweetness.  She  would  have 
been  glad  enough  to  be  able  to  turn  from  the  short 
range  of  vision  between  them;  but  the  stars  and 
river  afforded  her  good  vantage-ground,  and  on  them 
she  fixed  her  gaze. 

Mrs.  Levice  was  in  bright  spirits,  and  seemed  striv- 
ing to  outdo  the  night  in  brilliancy.  For  a  while 
Kemp  maintained  a  sort  of  Roland-for-an-Oliver  con- 
versation with  her;  but  with  his  eyes  continually 
straying  to  the  girl  before  him,  it  became  rather  diffi- 
cult. Some  merry  rowers  down  the  river  were  singing 
college  songs  harmoniously;  and  Mrs.  Levice  soon 
began  to  hum  with  them,  her  voice  gradually  sub- 
siding into  a  faint  murmur.  The  balmy,  summer- 
freighted  air  made  her  feel  drowsy.  She  listened 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          153 

absently  to  Ruth's  occasional  warnings  to  Kemp,  and 
to  the  swift  dip  of  the  oars. 

"  Now  we  have  clear  sailing  for  a  stretch,"  said 
Ruth,  as  they  came  to  a  broad  curve.  "  Did  you 
think  you  were  going  to  be  capsized  when  we  shot 
over  that  snag,  Mamma?" 

She  leaned  a  little  farther  forward,  looking  past 
Kemp. 

"  Mamma !  " 

Then  she  straightened  herself  back  in  her  seat. 
Kemp,  noting  the  sudden  flush  that  had  rushed  to 
and  from  her  cheek,  turned  halfway  to  look  at  Mrs. 
Levice.  Her  head  was  leaning  against  the  flag-staff; 
her  eyes  were  closed,  in  the  manner  of  more  wary 
chaperones,  —  Mrs.  Levice  slept. 

Dr.  Kemp  moved  quietly  back  to  his  former 
position. 

Far  across  the  river  a  woman's  silvery  voice  was 
singing  the  sweet  old  love-song,  "Juanita;"  over- 
head, the  golden  crescent  moon  hung  low  from  the 
floor  of  heaven  pulsating  with  stars  ;  it  was  a  passion- 
ate, tender  night,  and  Ruth,  with  her  face  raised  to 
the  holy  beauty,  was  a  dreamy  part  of  it.  Against 
the  black  lace  about  her  head  her  face  shone  like  a 
cameo,  her  eyes  were  brown  wells  of  starlight ;  she 
scarcely  seemed  to  breathe,  so  still  she  sat,  her 
slender  hands  loosely  clasped  in  her  lap. 

Dr.  Kemp  .sat  opposite  her  —  and  Mrs.  Levice 
slept. 

Slowly  and  more  slowly  sped  the  tiny  boat ;  long 
gentle  strokes  touched  the  water ;  and  presently  the 
oars  lay  idle  in  their  locks,  —  they  were  unconsciously 
drifting.  The  water  dipped  and  lapped  about  the 


154  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

sides ;  the  tender  woman's  voice  across  the  water 
stole  to  them,  singing  of  love  ;  their  eyes  met  —  and 
Mrs.  Levice  slept. 

Ever,  in  the  after  time,  when  Ruth  heard  that  song, 
she  was  again  rocking  in  the  frail  row-boat  upon  the 
lovely  river,  and  a  man's  deep,  grave  eyes  held  hers 
.as  if  they  would  never  let  them  go,  till  under  his  wor- 
shipping eyes  her  own  filled  with  slow  ecstatic  tears. 

"  Doctor,"  called  a  startled  voice,  "  row  out ;  I  am 
right  under  the  trees." 

They  both  started.  Mrs.  Levice  was,  without 
doubt,  awake.  They  had  drifted  into  a  cove,  and 
she  was  cowering  from  the  over-hanging  boughs 

"  I  do  not  care  to  be  Absalomed  ;  where  were  your 
eyes,  Ruth?"  she  complained,  as  Kemp  pushed  out 
with  a  happy,  apologetic  laugh.  "  Did  not  you  see 
where  we  were  going?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  a  little  breathlessly ;  "  I 
believe  I  am  growing  far-sighted." 

"  It  must  be  time  to  sight  home  now,"  said  her 
mother;  "I  am  quite  chilly." 

In  five  minutes  Kemp  had  grounded  the  boat  and 
helped  Mrs.  Levice  out.  When  he  turned  for  Ruth, 
she  had  already  sprung  ashore  and  had  started  up  the 
slope ;  for  the  first  time  the  oars  lay  forgotten  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  Wait  for  us,  Ruth,"  called  Mrs.  Levice,  and  the 
slight  white  figure  stood  still  till  they  came  up. 

"You  are  so  slow,"  she  said  with  a  reckless  little 
laugh ;  "  I  feel  as  if  I  could  fly  home." 

"Are  you  light-headed,  Ruth?  "  asked  her  mother, 
but  the  girl  had  fallen  behind  them.  She  could  not 
yet  meet  his  eyes  again. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  155 

"  Come,  Ruth,  either  stay  with  us  or  just  ahead  of 
us."  Mrs.  Levice,  awake,  was  an  exemplary  duenna. 

"There  is  nothing  abroad  here  but  the  stars,"  she 
answered,  flitting  before  them. 

"  And  they  are  stanch,  silent  friends  on  such  a 
night,"  remarked  Kemp,  softly. 

She  kept  before  them  till  they  reached  the  gate,  and 
stood  inside  of  it  as  they  drew  near. 

"  Then  you  will  not  be  home  till  Monday,"  he  said, 
taking  Mrs.  Levice's  hand  and  raising  his  hat ;  "  and  I 
am  off  on  the  early  morning  train.  Good-by." 

As  she  turned  in  at  the  gate,  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  Ruth.  His  ringers  closed  softly,  tightly  over  hers ; 
she  heard  him  say  almost  inaudibly,  — 

"  Till  Monday." 

She  raised  her  shy  eyes  for  one  brief  second  to  his 
glowing  ones  ;  and  he  passed,  a  tall,  dark  figure,  down 
the  shadowy  road. 

When  Mr.  Levice  returned  from  his  game  of  whist, 
he  quietly  opened  the  door  of  his  daughter's  bedroom 
and  looked  in.  All  was  well ;  the  wolf  had  departed, 
and  his  lamb  slept  safe  in  the  fold. 

But  in  the  dark  his  lamb's  eyes  were  mysteriously 
bright.  Sleep !  With  this  new  crown  upon  her ! 
Humble  as  the  beautiful  beggar-maid  must  have  felt 
when  the  king  raised  her,  she  wondered  why  she  had 
been  thus  chosen  by  one  whom  she  had  deemed  so 
immeasurably  above  her.  And  this  is  another  phase 
of  woman's  love,  —  that  it  exalts  the  beloved  beyond 
all  reasoning. 


156  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

AT  six  o'clock  the  hills  in  their  soft  carpet  of  dull 
browns  and  greens  were  gently  warming  under 
the  sun's  first  rays.  At  seven  the  early  train  that  Dr. 
Kemp  purposed  taking  would  leave.  Ruth,  with  this 
knowledge  at  heart,  had  softly  risen  and  left  the  cot- 
tage. Close  behind  the  depot  rose  a  wooded  hill. 
She  had  often  climbed  it  with  the  Tyrrell  boys ;  and 
what  was  to  prevent  her  doing  so  now?  It  afforded 
an  excellent  view  of  the  station. 

It  was  very  little  past  six,  and  she  began  leisurely 
to  ascend  the  hill.  The  sweet  morning  air  was  in  her 
nostrils,  and  she  pushed  the  broad  hat  from  her 
happy  eyes.  She  paused  a  moment,  looking  up  at  the 
wooded  hill- top,  which  the  sun  was  jewelling  in 
silver. 

"Do  you  see  something  beautiful  up  there?  " 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  she  wheeled  around  and 
faced  Dr.  Kemp  within  a  hand's  breadth  of  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  stepping  back  with  burning  cheeks, 
"  I  did  not  mean  — I  did  not  expect —  " 

"  Nor  did  I,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  chance  is 
kinder  to  us  than  ourselves  —  beloved." 

She  turned  quite  white  at  the  low,  intense  word. 

"  You  understood  me  last  night  —  and  I  was  not  — 
.deceived?" 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  157 

Her  head  drooped  lower  till  the  broad  brim  of  her 
hat  hid  her  face. 

With  one  quick  step  he  reached  her  side. 

"  Ruth,  look  at  me." 

She  never  had  been  able  to  resist  his  compelling 
voice ;  and  now  with  a  swift-drawn  breath  she  threw 
back  her  head  and  looked  up  at  him  fairly,  with  all 
her  soul  in  her  eyes. 

"  Are  you  satisfied?  "  she  asked  tremulously. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  answered  as  with  one  movement  he 
drew  her  to  him. 

"  My  Santa  Filomena,"  he  murmured  with  his  lips 
against  her  hair,  "  this  is  worth  a  lifetime  of  waiting ; 
and  I  have  waited  long." 

In  his  close,  passionate  clasp  her  face  was  hidden  ; 
she  hardly  dared  meet  his  eyes  when  he  finally  held 
her  from  him. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  afraid  to  look  at  me  ?  No  one 
knows  you  better  than  I,  dear ;  you  can  trust  me,  I 
think." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  her  hand  fluttering  in  his; 
"  but  is  n't  —  the  train  coming?  " 

"  Are  you  so  anxious  to  have  me  go?  " 

Her  hand  closed  tightly  around  his. 

"  Because,"  laying  his  bearded  cheek  against  her 
fair  one,  "I  have  something  to  ask  you." 

"To  ask  me?" 

"  Yes  ;  are  you  surprised,  can't  you  guess?  Ruth, 
will  you  bless  me  still  further?  Will  you  be  my  wife, 
love?  " 

A  strange  thrill  stole  over  her;  his  voice  had 
assumed  a  bewildering  tenderness.  "  If  you  really 
want  me,"  she  replied,  with  a  sobbing  laugh. 


158  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Soon?"  he  persisted. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  must.  You  will  find  me  a  tyrant  in 
love,  my  Ruth." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  sir." 

"  Then  you  should  be.  Think,  child,  I  am  an  old 
man,  already  thirty-five ;  did  you  remember  that 
when  you  made  me  king  among  men?" 

"Then  I  am  quite  an  old  lady;  I  am  twenty  - 
two." 

"  As  ancient  as  that  ?  Then  you  should  be  able  to 
answer  me.  Make  it  soon,  sweetheart." 

"Why,  how  you  beg  —  for  a  king.  Besides, 
there  is  Father,  you  know;  he  decides  everything 
for  me." 

"  I  know ;  and  I  have  already  asked  him  on 
paper.  There  is  a  note  awaiting  him  at  the  hotel ; 
you  will  see  I  took  a  great  deal  for  granted  last 
night,  and  —  Ah,  the  whistle  !  What  day  is  this, 
Ruth?  " 

"  Friday." 

"  Good  Friday,  sweet,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  at  all  superstitious." 

"And  Monday  is  four  days  off;  well,  it  must 
make  up  for  all  we  lose.  Monday  will  be  four  days 
rolled  into  one. 

"Remember,"  he  continued  hurriedly,  "you  are 
doubly  precious  now,  darling,  and  take  good  care  of 
yourself  till  our  '  Auf  Wiedersehn.'  " 

"  And  —  and  —  you  will  remember  that  for  me  too, 
D- doctor?" 

"Who?     There  is  no  doctor  here  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  I  know  one  —  Herbert." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  159 

"  God  bless  you  for  that,  dear !  "  he  answered 
gravely. 

Mr.  Levice,  sleepily  turning  on  his  pillow,  heard 
the  whistle  of  the  out-going  train  with  benignant 
satisfaction.  It  was  taking  Dr.  Kemp  where  he 
belonged,  —  to  his  busy  practice,  —  and  leaving  his 
child's  peace  undisturbed.  Confound  the  man,  any- 
way !  he  mused ;  what  had  possessed  him  to  drop 
down  upon  them  in  that  manner  and  rob  Ruth  of  her 
appetite  and  happy  talk?  No  doubt  she  had  been 
flattered  by  the  interest  he  had  shown  in  her ;  but  he 
was  too  old  and  too  dignified  a  gentleman  to  resort 
to  flirtation,  and  anything  deeper  was  out  of  the 
question.  He  must  certainly  have  a  little  plain 
talk  with  the  child  this  morning,  and,  well,  he  could 
cry  "  Ebenezer  !  "  on  his  departure.  With  this  con- 
clusion, he  softly  rose,  taking  care  not  to  disturb  his 
placidly  sleeping  wife,  who  never  dreamed  of  waking 
till  nine. 

Ruth  generally  waited  for  him  for  breakfast,  but 
not  seeing  her  around,  he  went  in  and  took  a  solitary 
meal.  Sauntering  out  afterward  toward  the  hotel 
porch,  his  hat  on,  his  stick  under  his  arm,  and  busily 
lighting  a  cigar,  he  was  met  at  the  door  of  the  bil- 
liard-room by  one  of  the  clerks. 

"  Dr.  Kemp  left  this  for  you  this  morning,"  said  he, 
holding  out  a  small  envelope.  A  flush  rose  to  the 
old  gentleman's  sallow  cheek  as  he  took  it. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said ;  "  I  believe  I  shall  come  in 
here  for  a  few  minutes." 

He  passed  by  the  clerk  and  seated  himself  in  a 
deep,  cane-bottomed  chair  near  the  window.  He 
fumbled  for  the  cord  of  his  glasses  in  a  slightly 


160  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

nervous  manner,  and  adjusted  them  hastily.  The 
missive  was  addressed  to  him,  certainly;  and  with 
no  little  wonder  he  tore  it  open  and  read :  — 

BEACHAM'S  Friday  morning. 
MR.  LEVICE  : 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  Pardon  the  hurried  nature  of  this 
communication,  but  I  must  leave  shortly  on  the  in-coming 
train,  having  an  important  operation  to  undertake  this 
morning  ;  otherwise  I  should  have  liked  to  prepare  you 
more  fully,  but  time  presses.  Simply,  then,  I  love  your 
daughter.  I  told  her  so  last  night  upon  the  river,  and 
she  has  made  me  the  proudest  and  happiest  of  men  by 
returning  my  love.  I  am  well  aware  what  I  am  asking  of 
you  when  I  ask  her  of  you  to  be  my  wife.  You  know  me 
personally  ;  you  know  my  financial  standing  ;  I  trust  to 
you  to  remember  my  failings  with  mercy  in  the  knowledge 
of  our  great  love.  Till  Monday  night,  then,  I  leave 
her  and  my  happiness  to  your  consideration  and  love. 
With  the  greatest  respect, 
Yours  Sincerely, 

HERBERT  KEMP. 

"  My  God  !  " 

The  clerk  standing  near  him  in  the  doorway  turned 
hurriedly. 

"Any  trouble?"  he  asked,  moving  toward  him  and 
noticing  the  ashy  pallor  of  his  face. 

The  old  man's  hand  closed  spasmodically  over  the 
paper. 

"Nothing,"  he  managed  to  answer,  waving  the 
man  away ;  "  don't  notice  me." 

The  clerk,  seeing  his  presence  was  undesirable, 
took  up  his  position  in  the  doorway  again. 

Levice  sat  on.  No  further  sound  broke  from  him  ; 
he  had  clinched  his  teeth  hard.  It  had  come  to 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          l6l 

this,  then.  She  loved  him ;  it  was  too  late.  If  the 
man's  heart  alone  were  concerned,  it  would  have 
been  an  easy  matter ;  but  hers,  Ruth's.  God  !  If 
she  really  loved,  her  father  knew  only  too  well  how 
she  would  love.  Was  the  man  crazy?  Had  he  en- 
tirely forgotten  the  gulf  that  lay  between  them? 
Great  drops  of  perspiration  rose  to  his  forehead. 
Two  ideas  held  him  in  a  desperate  struggle,  — 
his  child's  happiness;  the  prejudice  of  a  lifetime. 
Something  conquered  finally,  and  he  arose  quietly 
and  walked  slowly  off. 

Through  the  trees  he  heard  laughter.  He  walked 
round  and  saw  her  swinging  Will  Tyrrell. 

"There's  your  father,"  cried  Boss,  from  the  limb 
of  a  tree. 

She  looked  up,  startled.  With  a  newborn  shyness 
she  had  endeavored  to  put  off  this  meeting  with  her 
father.  She  gave  the  swing  another  push  and  waited 
his  approach  with  beating  heart. 

"  The  boys  will  excuse  you,  Ruth,  I  think ;  I  wish 
you  to  come  for  a  short  walk  with  me." 

At  his  voice,  the  gentle  seriousness  of  which  pene- 
trated even  to  the  Tyrrell  boys'  understanding,  she 
felt  that  her  secret  was  known. 

She  laid  her  arm  about  his  neck  and  gave  him  his 
usual  morning  kiss,  reddening  slowly  under  his  long 
searching  look  as  he  held  her  to  him.  She  followed 
him  almost  blindly  as  he  turned  from  the  grounds 
and  struck  into  the  lane  leading  to  the  woods.  Mr. 
Levice  walked  along,  aimlessly  knocking  off  with  his 
stick  the  dandelions  and  camomile  in  the  hedges. 
It  was  with  a  wrench  he  spoke. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  and  now  the  stick  acted  as  a 
ii 


1 62  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL, 

support,  "  I  was  just  handed  a  note  from  Dr.  Kemp. 
He  has  asked  me  for  your  hand." 

In  the  pause  that  followed  Ruth's  lovely  face  was 
hidden  in  her  hat. 

"  He  also  told  me  that  he  loves  you,"  he  continued 
slowly,  "  and  that  you  return  his  love.  Will  you  turn 
your  face  to  me,  Ruth?  " 

She  did  so  with  dignity. 

"You  love  this  man?  " 

"  I  do."  As  reverently  as  if  at  the  altar,  she  faced 
and  answered  her  father.  All  her  love  was  in  the 
eyes  she  raised  to  his.  Beneath  their  happy  glow 
Levice's  sank  and  his  steady  lips  grew  pale. 

They  were  away  from  mankind  in  the  shelter  of 
the  woods,  the  birds  gayly  carolling  their  matins 
above  them. 

"  And  you  desire  to  become  his  wife?  " 

Neck,  face,  and  ears  were  suffused  with  color  as 
she  faltered  unsteadily,  — 

"Oh,  Father,  he  loves  me."  Then  at  the  wonder 
of  it,  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck 
impulsively  and  hiding  her  face  in  his  shoulder,  "  I 
am  so  happy,  so  happy  !  it  seems  almost  too  beautiful 
to  be  true." 

The  old  man's  trembling  hand  smoothed  the  soft 
little  tendrils  of  hair  that  had  escaped  from  their 
pins.  He  stifled  a  groan  as  he  was  thus  disarmed. 

"And  what,"  she  asked,  her  sweet  eyes  holding 
his  as  she  stepped  back,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
Herbert  Kemp,  M.  D.  ?  Will  you  be  proud  of  your 
son-in-law,  Father  darling?" 

Levice's  hand  fell  suddenly  on  her  shoulder.  He 
schooled  himself  to  smile  quietly  upon  her. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  163 

"  Dr.  Kemp  is  a  great  friend  of  mine.  He  is  a 
gentleman  whom  all  the  world  honors,  not  only  for 
his  professional  worth,  but  for  his  manly  qualities.  I 
am  not  surprised  that  you  love  him,  nor  yet  that  he 
loves  you  — except  for  one  thing." 

"And  that?"  she  asked,  smiling  confidently  at 
him. 

"  Child,  you  are  a  Jewess ;  Dr.  Kemp  is  a 
Christian." 

And  still  his  daughter  smiled  trustingly. 

"What  difference  can  that  make,  since  we  love 
each  other?  "  she  asked. 

"  Will  you  believe  me,  Ruth,  when  I  say  that  all 
I  desire  is  your  happiness?  " 

"  Father,  I  know  it." 

"  Then  I  tell  you  I  can  never  bring  myself  to  ap- 
prove of  a  marriage  between  you  and  a  Christian. 
There  can  be  no  true  happiness  in  such  a  union." 

"Why  not?  Inasmuch  as  all  my  life  you  have 
taught  me  to  look  upon  my  Christian  friends  as  upon 
my  Jewish,  and  since  you  admit  him  irreproachable 
from  every  standpoint,  why  can  he  not  be  my 
husband?" 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  what  such  a  marriage 
entails?" 

"  Never." 

"  Then  do  so  now :  think  of  every  sacrifice,  so- 
cial and  religious,  it  enforces;  think  of  the  great 
difference  between  the  Jewish  race  and  the  Christian ; 
and  if,  after  you  have  measured  with  the  deadli- 
est earnestness  every  duty  that  married  life  brings, 
you  can  still  believe  that  you  will  be  happy,  then 
marry  him." 


1 64  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"With  your  blessing?  "  Her  lovely,  pleading  eyes 
still  held  his. 

"Always  with  my  blessing,  child.  One  thing 
more  :  did  Dr.  Kemp  mention  anything  of  this  to 
you?" 

"  No ;  he  must  have  forgotten  it  as  I  did,  or 
rather,  if  I  ever  thought  of  it,  it  was  a  mere  passing 
shadow.  I  put  it  aside  with  the  thought  that  though 
you  and  I  had  never  discussed  such  a  circumstance, 
judging  by  all  your  other  actions  in  our  relations 
with  Christians,  you  would  be  above  considering  such 
a  thing  a  serious  obstacle  to  two  people's  happiness." 

"  You  see,  when  it  comes  to  action,  my  broad 
views  dwindle  down  to  detail,  and  I  am  only  an  old 
man  with  old-fashioned  ideas.  However,  I  shall  re- 
mind Dr.  Kemp  of  this  grave  consideration,  and 
then  — you  will  not  object  to  this?  " 

"Oh,  no;  but  I  know  — I  know—"  What  did 
she  know  except  of  the  greatness  of  his  love  that 
would  annihilate  all  her  father's  forebodings? 

"Yes,"  her  father  answered  the  half-spoken  thought ; 
"  I  know  too.  But  ponder  this  well,  as  I  shall  insist 
on  his  doing ;  then,  on  Monday  night,  when  you  have 
both  satisfactorily  answered  to  each  other  every 
phase  of  this  terrible  difference,  I  shall  have  nothing 
more  to  say." 

Love  is  so  selfish.  Ruth,  hugging  her  happiness, 
failed,  as  she  had  never  failed  before,  to  mark  the 
wearied  voice,  the  pale  face,  and  the  sad  eyes  of  her 
father. 

"Your  mother  will  soon  be  awake,"  he  said; 
"had  you  not  better  go  back?" 

Something  that  she  had  expected  was  wanting  in 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  165 

this  meeting ;  she  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  her 
mouth  visibly  trembling. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Why,  Father,  you  are  so  cold  and  hard,  and  you 
have  not  even  —  " 

"Wait  till  Monday  night,  Ruth.  Then  I  will  do 
anything  you  ask  me.  Now  go  back  to  your  mother, 
but  understand,  not  a  word  of  this  to  her  yet.  I 
shall  not  recur  to  this  again ;  meanwhile  we  shall  both 
have  something  to  think  of." 

That  afternoon  Dr.  Kemp  received  the  following 
brief  note  :  — 

BEACHAM'S,  Aug.  25,  188 — . 
DR.  KEMP: 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Have  you  forgotten  that  my  daughter  is  a 
Jewess  ;  that  you  are  a  Christian  ?  Till  Monday  night  I 
shall  expect  you  to  consider  this  question  from  every 
possible  point  of  view.  If  then  both  you  and  my  daugh- 
ter can  satisfactorily  override  the  many  objections  I  un- 
doubtedly have,  I  shall  raise  no  obstacle  to  your  desires. 
Sincerely  your  friend, 

JULES  LEVICE. 

In  the  mean  time  Ruth  was  thinking  it  all  out. 
Love  was  blinding  her,  dazzling  her;  and  the  giants 
that  rose  before  her  were  dwarfed  into  pygmies,  at 
which  she  tried  to  look  gravely,  but  succeeded  only  in 
smiling  at  their  feebleness.  Love  was  an  Armada, 
and  bore  down  upon  the  little  armament  that  thought 
called  up,  and  rode  it  all  to  atoms. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  on  their  return  on  Monday 
morning,  as  little  Rose  Delano  stood  in  Ruth's  room 
looking  up  into  her  friend's  face,  the  dreamy,  starry 
eyes,  the  smiles  that  crept  in  thoughtful  dimples 
about  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  the  whole  air 


1 66  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

of  a  mysterious  something,  baffled  and  bewildered 
her. 

Upon  Ruth's  writing-table  rested  a  basket  of 
delicate  Mare"chal  Niel  buds,  almost  veiled  in  ten- 
der maiden-hair;  the  anonymous  sender  was  not 
unknown. 

"  It  has  agreed  well  with  you,  Miss  Levice,"  said 
Rose,  in  her  gentle,  patient  voice,  that  seemed  so  out 
of  keeping  with  her  young  face.  "  You  look  as  if  you 
had  been  dipped  in  a  love-elixir." 

"  So  I  have,"  laughed  Ruth,  her  hand  straying  to 
the  velvety  buds  ;  "  it  has  made  a  '  nut-brown  mayde  ' 
of  me,  I  think,  Rosebud.  But  tell  me  the  city  news. 
Everything  in  running  order?  Tell  me." 

"  Everything  is  as  your  kind  help  has  willed  it.  I 
have  a  pleasant  little  room  with  a  middle-aged  couple 
on  Post  Street.  Altogether  I  earn  ten  dollars  over 
my  actual  monthly  expenses.  Oh,  Miss  Levice,  when 
shall  I  be  able  to  make  you  understand  how  deeply 
grateful  I  am?" 

"  Never,  Rose ;  believe  me,  I  never  could  under- 
stand deep  things ;  that  is  why  I  am  so  happy." 

"  You  are  teasing  now,  with  that  mischievous  light 
in  your  eyes.  Yet  the  first  time  I  saw  your 
face  I  thought  that  either  you  had  or  would  have  a 
history." 

"Sad?"  The  sudden  poignancy  of  the  question 
startled  Rose. 

She  looked  quickly  at  her  to  note  if  she  were  as 
earnest  as  her  voice  sounded.  The  dark  eyes  smiled 
daringly,  defiantly  at  her. 

"I  am  no  sorceress,"  she  answered  evasively  but 
lightly;  "look  in  the  glass  and  see." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          l6/ 

"  You  remind  me  of  Floy  Tyrrell.  Pooh  !  Let 
us  talk  of  something  else.  Then  it  can't  be 
Wednesdays?" 

"  It  can  be  any  day.  The  Page  children  can  have 
Friday." 

"  Do  you  know  how  Mr.  Page  is?  " 

"  Did  you  not  hear  of  the  great  operations  he  — 
Dr.  Kemp  —  performed  Friday?" 

"  No."  She  could  have  shaken  herself  for  the  tell- 
tale, inevitable  rush  of  blood  that  overspread  her  face. 
If  Rose  saw,  she  made  no  sign ;  she  had  had  one 
lesson. 

"  I  did  not  know  such  a  thing  was  in  his  line.  I 
had  been  giving  Miss  Dora  a  lesson  in  the  nursery. 
The  old  nurse  had  brought  the  two  little  ones  in  there, 
and  kept  us  all  on  tenter-hooks  running  in  and  out. 
One  of  the  doctors,  Wells,  I  think  she  said,  had 
fainted ;  it  was  a  very  delicate  and  dangerous  opera- 
tion. When  my  lesson  was  over,  I  slipped  quietly 
out ;  I  was  passing  through  the  corridor  when  Dr. 
Kemp  came  out  of  one  of  the  rooms.  He  was  quite 
pale.  He  recognized  me  immediately  \  and  though  I 
wished  to  pass  straight  on,  he  stopped  me  and  shook 
my  hand  so  very  friendly.  And  now  I  hear  it  was  a 
great  success.  Oh,  Miss  Levice,  he  has  no  parallel  but 
himself!" 

It  did  not  sound  exaggerated  to  Ruth  to  hear  him 
thus  made  much  of.  It  was  only  very  sweet  and 
true. 

"  I  knew  just  what  he  must  be  when  I  saw  him," 
the  girl  babbled  on ;  "  that  was  why  I  went  to  him. 
I  knew  he  was  a  doctor  by  his  carriage,  and  his  strong, 
kind  face  was  my  only  stimulus.  But  there,  you  must 


1 68  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

forgive   me   if  I   tire   you;    you   see   he   sent   you 
to  me." 

"You  do  not  tire  me,  Rose,"  she  said  gravely. 
And  the  same  expression  rested  upon  her  face  till 
evening. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  169 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MONDAY  night  had  come.  As  Ruth  half  hid  a 
pale  yellow  bud  in  her  heavy,  low-coiled  hair, 
the  gravity  of  her  mien  seemed  to  deepen.  This 
was  partially  the  result  of  her  father's  expressive 
countenance  and  voice.  If  he  had  smiled,  it  had 
been  such  a  faint  flicker  that  it  was  forgotten  in  the 
look  of  repression  that  had  followed.  In  the  after- 
noon he  had  spoken  a  few  disturbing  words  to  her : 

"  I  have  told  your  mother  that  Dr.  Kemp  is  coming 
to  discuss  a  certain  project  and  desires  your  presence. 
She  intends  to  retire  rather  early,  and  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  your  receiving  him." 

At  the  distantly  courteous  tone  she  raised  a  pair  of 
startled  eyes.  He  was  regarding  her  patiently,  as  if 
awaiting  some  remark. 

"  Surely  you  do  not  wish  me  to  be  present  at 
this  interview?"  she  questioned,  her  voice  slightly 
trembling. 

"  Not  only  that,  but  I  desire  your  most  earnest 
attention  and  calm  reasoning  powers  to  be  brought 
with  you.  You  have  not  forgotten  what  I  told  you 
to  consider,  Ruth?" 

"  No,  Father." 

She  felt,  though  in  a  greater  degree,  as  she  had 
often  felt  in  childhood,  when,  in  taking  her  to  task 


I/O  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

for  some  naughtiness,  he  had  worn  this  same  sad  and 
distant  look.  He  had  never  punished  her  nominally ; 
the  pain  he  himself  showed  had  always  affected  her 
as  the  severest  reprimand  never  could  have  done. 

She  looked  like  a  peaceful,  sweet-faced  nun  in  her 
simple  white  gown,  that  fell  in  long  straight  folds 
to  her  feet;  not  another  sign  of  color  was  upon 
her. 

A  calmness  pervaded  her  whole  person  as  she 
paced  the  softly  lighted  drawing-room  and  waited 
for  Kemp. 

When  he  was  shown  into  the  room,  this  tranquillity 
struck  him  immediately. 

She  stood  quite  still  as  he  came  toward  her.  He 
certainly  had  some  old-time  manners,  for  the  rever- 
ence he  felt  for  her  caused  him  first  of  all  to  raise  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  The  curious,  well-known  flush  rose 
slowly  to  her  sensitive  face  at  the  action ;  when  he 
had  caught  her  swiftly  to  him,  a  sobbing  sigh  escaped 
her. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  drawing  her  down  to  a 
seat  beside  him.  "  Are  you  tired  of  me  already, 
love?" 

"  Not  of  you ;  of  waiting,"  she  answered,  half 
shyly  meeting  his  look. 

"  I  hardly  expected  this,"  he  said  after  a  pause  ; 
"  has  your  father  flown  bodily  from  the  enemy  and 
left  you  to  face  him  alone?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  But  really  it  was  kind  of  him  to 
keep  away  for  a  while,  was  it  not?"  she  asked 
simply. 

"  It  was  unusually  kind.  I  suppose,  however,  you 
will  have  to  make  your  exit  on  his  entrance." 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING    EQUAL.          17 1 

"No,"  she  laughed  quietly ;  "I  am  going  to  play 
the  rdle  of  the  audience  to-night.  He  expressly  de- 
sires my  presence  ;  but  if  you  differ  —  " 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  The  earnestness  with 
which  she  had  greeted  him  settled  like  a  mask  upon 
his  face.  The  hand  that  held  hers  drew  it  quickly  to 
his  breast. 

"  I  think  it  is  well  that  you  remain,"  he  said, 
"  because  we  agree  at  any  rate  on  the  main  point,  — 
that  we  love  each  other.  Always  that,  darling?  " 

"  Always  that  —  love." 

The  low,  sweet  voice  that  for  the  first  time  so 
caressed  him  thrilled  him  oddly;  but  a  measured 
step  was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  Ruth  moved  like  a 
bird  to  a  chair.  He  could  not  know  that  the  sound 
of  the  step  had  given  her  the  momentary  courage 
thus  to  address  him. 

He  arose  deferentially  as  Mr.  Levice  entered.  The 
two  men  formed  a  striking  contrast.  Kemp  stood 
tall,  stalwart,  straight  as  an  arrow;  Levice,  with  his 
short  stature,  his  stooping  shoulders,  and  his  silvery 
hair  falling  about  and  softening  somewhat  his  plain 
Jewish  face,  served  as  a  foil  to  the  other's  bright, 
handsome  figure. 

Kemp  came  forward  to  meet  him  and  grasped  his 
hand.  Nothing  is  more  thoroughly  expressive  than 
this  shaking  of  hands  between  men.  It  is  a  free- 
masonry that  women  lack  and  are  the  losers  thereby. 
The  kiss  is  a  sign  of  emotion ;  the  hand-clasp  bespeaks 
strong  esteem  or  otherwise.  Levice's  hand  closed 
tightly  about  the  doctor's  large  one ;  there  was  a 
great  feeling  of  mutual  respect  between  these  two. 

"  How  are  you  and  your  wife  ?  "  asked  the  doctor, 


I72  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

seating  himself  in  a  low,  silken  easy-chair  as  Levice 
took  one  opposite  him. 

"  She  is  well,  but  tired  this  evening,  and  has  gone 
to  bed.  She  wishes  to  be  remembered  to  you."  As 
he  spoke,  he  half  turned  his  head  to  where  Ruth  sat 
in  a  corner,  a  little  removed. 

"Why  do  you  sit  back  there,  Ruth?" 

She  arose,  and  seeing  no  other  convenient  seat  at 
hand,  drew  up  the  curious  ivory-topped  chair.  Thus 
seated,  they  formed  the  figure  of  an  isosceles  triangle, 
with  Ruth  at  the  apex,  the  men  at  the  angles  of  the 
base.  It  is  a  rigid  outline,  that  of  the  isosceles, 
bespeaking  each  point  an  alien  from  the  others. 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause  for  some 
moments  after  she  had  seated  herself,  during  which 
Ruth  noted  how,  as  the  candle-light  from  the  sconce 
behind  fell  upon  her  father's  head,  each  silvery  hair 
seemed  to  speak  of  quiet  old  age. 

Kemp  was  the  first  to  speak,  and,  as  usual,  came 
straight  to  the  point. 

"  Mr.  Levice,  there  is  no  use  in  disguising  or  beat- 
ing around  the  bush  the  thought  that  is  uppermost 
in  all  our  minds.  I  ask  you  now,  in  person,  what  I 
asked  you  in  writing  last  Friday,  —  will  you  give  me 
your  daughter  to  be  my  wife?  " 

"  I  will  answer  you  as  I  did  in  writing.  Have  you 
considered  that  you  are  a  Christian;  that  she  is  a 
Jewess?" 

"  I  have." 

It  was  the  first  gun  and  the  answering  shot  of  a 
strenuous  battle. 

"And  you,  my  child?"  he  addressed  her  in  the 
old  sweet  way  that  she  had  missed  in  the  afternoon. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          1/3 

"  I  have  also  done  so  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 

u  Then  you  have  found  it  raised  no  barrier  to  your 
desire  to  become  Dr.  Kemp's  wife?" 

"  None." 

The  two  men  drew  a  deep  breath  at  the  sound 
of  the  little  decisive  word,  but  with  a  difference. 
Kemp's  face  shone  exultantly.  Levice  pressed  his  lips 
hard  together  as  the  shuddering  breath  left  him ;  his 
heavy-veined  hands  were  tightly  clinched ;  when  he 
spoke,  however,  his  voice  was  quite  peaceful. 

"  It  is  an  old  and  just  custom  for  parents  to  be 
consulted  by  their  children  upon  their  choice  of 
husband  or  wife.  In  France  the  parents  are  con- 
sulted before  the  daughter;  it  is  not  a  bad  plan. 
It  often  saves  some  unnecessary  pangs  —  for  the 
daughter.  I  am  sorry  in  this  case  that  we  are  not 
living  in  France." 

"Then  you  object?"  Kemp  almost  hurled  the 
words  at  him. 

"  I  crave  your  patience,"  answered  the  old  man, 
slowly ;  "  I  have  grown  accustomed  to  doing  things 
deliberately,  and  will  not  be  hurried  in  this  instance. 
But  as  you  have  put  the  question,  I  may  answer  you 
now.  I  do  most  solemnly  and  seriously  object." 

Ruth,  sitting  intently  listening  to  her  father,  paled 
slowly.  The  doctor  also  changed  color. 

"  My  child,"  Levice  continued,  looking  her  sadly 
in  the  face,  "  by  allowing  you  to  fall  blindly  into  this 
trouble,  without  warning,  with  my  apparent  sanction 
for  any  relationship  with  Christians,  I  have  done 
you  a  great  wrong ;  I  admit  it  with  anguish.  I  ask 
your  forgiveness." 

<•'  Don't,  Father !  " 


174  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Dr.  Kemp's  clinched  hand  came  down  with  force 
upon  his  knee.  He  was  white  to  the  lips,  for  though 
Levice  spoke  so  quietly,  a  strong  decisiveness  rang 
unmistakably  in  every  word. 

"  Mr.  Levice,  I  trust  I  am  not  speaking  disrespect- 
fully," he  began,  his  manly  voice  plainly  agitated, 
"  but  I  must  say  that  it  was  a  great  oversight  on  your 
part  when  you  threw  your  daughter,  equipped  as  she 
is,  into  Christian  society,  —  put  her  right  in  the  way  of 
loving  or  being  loved  by  any  Christian,  knowing  all 
along  that  such  a  state  of  affairs  could  lead  to  no  thing. 
It  was  not  only  wrong,  but,  holding  such  views,  it  was 
cruel." 

"  I  acknowledge  my  culpability ;  my  only  excuse 
lies  in  the  fact  that  such  an  event  never  presented  it- 
self as  a  possibility  to  my  imagination.  If  it  had,  I 
should  probably  have  trusted  that  her  own  Jewish 
conscience  and  bringing-up  would  protest  against 
her  allowing  herself  to  think  seriously  upon  such  an 
issue." 

"  But,  sir,  I  do  not  understand  your  exception ; 
you  are  not  orthodox." 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  intensely  Jewish,"  answered  the  old 
man,  proudly  regarding  his  antagonist.  "  I  tell  you  I 
object  to  this  marriage  ;  that  is  not  saying  I  oppose  it. 
There  are  certain  things  connected  with  it  of  which 
neither  you  nor  my  daughter  have  probably  thought. 
To  me  they  are  all-powerful  obstacles  to  your  happi- 
ness. Being  an  old  man  and  more  experienced,  will 
you  permit  me  to  suggest  these  points?  My  friend, 
I  am  seeking  nothing  but  my  child's  happiness ;  if, 
by  opening  the  eyes  of  both  of  you  to  what  menaces 
her  future  welfare,  I  can  avert  what  promises  but  a 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL.         1/5 

sometime  misery,  I  must  do  it,  late  though  it  may  be. 
If,  when  I  have  stated  my  view,  you  can  convince  me 
that  I  am  wrong,  I  shall  be  persuaded  and  admit  it. 
Will  you  accept  my  plan?" 

Kemp  bowed  his  head.  The  dogged  earnestness 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes  deepened;  he  kept  his 
gaze  steadily  and  attentively  fixed  upon  Levice. 
Ruth,  who  was  the  cause  of  the  whole  painful  scene, 
seemed  remote  and  shadowy. 

"  As  you  say,"  began  Levice,  "  we  are  not  ortho- 
dox ;  but  before  we  become  orthodox  or  reform,  we 
are  born,  and  being  born,  we  are  invested  with  certain 
hereditary  traits  that  are  unconvertible.  Every  Jew 
bears  in  his  blood  the  glory,  the  triumph,  the  misery, 
the  abjectness  of  Israel.  The  farther  we  move  in  the 
generations,  the  fainter  grows  the  inheritance.  In  most 
countries  in  these  times  the  abjectness  is  vanishing ; 
we  have  been  set  upon  our  feet ;  we  have  been 
allowed  to  walk ;  we  are  beginning  to  smile,  —  that 
is,  some  of  us.  Those  whose  fathers  were  helped  on 
are  nearer  the  man  as  he  should  be  than  those  whose 
fathers  are  still  grovelling.  My  child,  I  think,  stands 
a  perfect  type  of  what  culture  and  refinement  can 
give.  She  is  not  an  exception ;  there  are  thousands 
like  her  among  our  Jewish  girls.  Take  any  intrin- 
sically pure-souled  Jew  from  his  coarser  surround- 
ings and  give  him  the  highest  advantages,  and  he 
will  stand  forth  the  equal,  at  least,  of  any  man ;  but 
he  could  not  mix  forever  with  pitch  and  remain 
undefiled." 

"No  man  could,"  observed  Kemp,  as  Levice 
paused.  "But  what  are  these  things  to  me?" 

"Nothing;   but  to  Ruth,  much.     That  is  part  of 


176          OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

the  bar-sinister  between  you.  Possibly  your  sense  of 
refinement  has.  never  been  offended  in  my  family; 
but  there  are  many  families,  people  we  visit  and  love, 
who,  though  possessing  all  the  substrata  of  goodness, 
have  never  been  moved  to  cast  off  the  surface  thorns 
that  would  prick  your  good  taste  as  sharply  as  any 
physical  pain.  This,  of  course,  is  not  because  they 
are  Jews,  but  because  they  lack  refining  influences  in 
their  surroundings.  We  look  for  and  excuse  these 
signs;  many  Christians  take  them  as  the  inevitable 
marks  of  the  race,  and  without  looking  further,  con- 
clude that  a  cultured  Jew  is  an  impossibility." 

"  Mr.  Levice,  I  am  but  an  atom  in  the  Christian 
world,  and  you  who  number  so  many  of  them  among 
your  friends  should  not  make  such  sweeping  as- 
sertions. The  world  is  narrow-minded;  individuals 
are  broader." 

"  True ;  but  I  speak  of  the  majority,  who  decide 
the  vote,  and  by  whonl  my  child  would  be,  without 
doubt,  ostracized.  This  only  by  your  people ;  by 
ours  it  would  be  worse,  —  for  she  will  have  raised  a 
terrible  barrier  by  renouncing  her  religion." 

"  I  shall  never  renounce  my  religion,  Father." 

"  Such  a  marriage  would  mean  only  that  to  the 
world;  and  so  you  would  be  cut  adrift  from  both 
sides,  as  all  women  are  who  move  from  where  they 
rightfully  belong  to  where  they  are  not  wanted." 

"  Sir,"  interrupted  Kemp,  "  allow  me  to  show  you 
wherein  such  a  state  of  affairs  would,  if  it  should  hap- 
pen, be  of  no  consequence.  The  friends  we  care 
for  and  who  care  for  us  will  not  drop  off  if  we  re- 
main unchanged.  Because  I  love  your  daughter  and 
she  loves  me,  and  because  we  both  desire  our  love  to 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  177 

be  honored  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man,  wherein 
have  we  erred?  We  shall  still  remain  the  same  man 
and  woman." 

"  Unhappily  the  world  would  not  think  so." 

"Then  let  them  hold  to  their  bigoted  opinion; 
it  is  valueless,  and  having  each  other,  we  can  dispense 
with  them." 

"  You  speak  in  the  heat  of  passion ;  and  at  such  a 
time  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  you  understand 
that  the  honeymoon  of  life  is  made  up  of  more  than 
two,  and  a  third  being  inimical  can  make  it  wretched. 
The  knowledge  that  people  we  respect  hold  aloof 
from  us  is  bitter." 

"  But  such  knowledge,"  interrupted  Ruth's  sweet 
voice,  "would  be  robbed  of  all  bitterness  when  sur- 
rounded and  hedged  in  by  all  that  we  love." 

Her  father  looked  in  surprise  at  the  brave  face 
raised  so  earnestly  to  his. 

"  Very  well,"  he  responded  ;  "  count  the  world  as 
nothing.  You  have  just  said,  my  Ruth,  that  you 
would  not  renounce  your  religion.  How  could  that 
be  when  you  have  a  Christian  husband  who  would 
not  renounce  his?  " 

"I  should  hope  he  would  not;  I  should  have 
little  respect  for  any  man  who  would  give  up  his 
sacred^convictions  because  I  have  come  into  his  life. 
As  for  my  religion,  I  am  a  Jewess,  and  will  die  one. 
My  God  is  fixed  and  unalterable ;  he  is  one  and 
indivisible ;  to  divide  his  divinity  would  be  to  deny 
his  omnipotence.  As  to  forms,  you,  Father,  have 
bred  in  me  a  contempt  for  all  but  a  few.  Saturday 
will  always  be  my  Sabbath,  no  matter  what  conven- 
tion would  make  me  do.  We  have  decided  that 

12 


TI7EHSIT7J 


1 78  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

writing  or  sewing  or  pleasuring,  since  it  hurts  no 
one,  is  no  more  a  sin  on  that  day  than  on  another ; 
to  sit  with  idle  hands  and  gossip  or  slander  is 
more  so.  But  on  that  day  my  heart  always  holds  its 
Sabbath ;  this  is  the  force  of  custom.  Any  day 
would  do  as  well  if  we  were  used  to  it,  —  for  who  can 
tell  which  was  the  first  and  which  the  seventh  count- 
ing from  creation  ?  On  our  New  Year  I  should  still 
feel  that  a  holy  cycle  of  time  had  passed ;  but  I  live 
only  according  to  one  record  of  time,  and  my  New 
Year  falls  always  on  the  ist  of  January.  Atonement 
is  a  sacred  day  to  me ;  I  could  not  desecrate  it. 
Our  services  are  magnificently  beautiful,  and  I  should 
feel  like  a  culprit  if  debarred  from  their  holiness. 
As  to  fasting,  you  and  I  have  agreed  that  any  physi- 
cal punishment  that  keeps  our  thoughts  one  moment 
from  God,  and  puts  them  on  the  feast  that  is  to 
come,  is  mere  sham  and  pretence.  After  these, 
Father,  wherein  does  our  religion  show  itself?  " 

"  Surely,"  he  replied  with  some  bitterness,  "  we 
hold  few  Jewish  rites.  Well,  and  so  you  think  you 
can  keep  these  up?  And  you,  Dr.  Kemp?  " 

Dr.  Kemp  had  been  listening  attentively  while 
Ruth  spoke.  His  eyes  kindled  brightly  as  he 
answered,  — 

"  Why  should  she  not  ?  If  all  her  orisons  have 
made  her  as  beautiful,  body  and  soul,  as  she  is  to  me, 
what  is  to  prevent  her  from  so  continuing?  And  if 
my  wife  would  permit  me  to  go  with  her  upon  her 
holidays  to  your  beautiful  Temple,  no  one  would  listen 
more  reverently  than  I.  Loving  her,  what  she  finds 
worshipful  could  find  nothing  but  respect  in  me." 

Plainly  Mr.   Levice  had  forgotten  the   wellspring 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

that  was  to  enrich  their  lives ;  but  he  perceived  that 
some  impregnable  armor  encased  them  that  made 
every  shot  of  his  harmless. 

"  I  can  understand,"  he  ventured,  "  that  no  gen- 
tleman with  self-respect  would,  at  least  outwardly, 
show  disrespect  for  any  person's  religion.  You, 
Doctor,  might  even  come  to  regard  with  awe  a  faith 
that  has  withstood  everything  and  has  never  yet 
been  sneered  at,  however  its  followers  have  been  per- 
secuted. Many  of  its  minor  forms  are  slowly  dying 
out  and  will  soon  be  remembered  only  historically; 
this  history  belongs  to  every  one." 

"  Certainly.  Let  us,  however,  stick  to  the  point 
in  question.  You  are  a  man  who  has  absorbed  the 
essence  of  his  religion,  and  cast  off  most  of  its  un- 
necessary externals.  You  have  done  the  same  for 
my —  for  your  daughter.  This  distinguishes  you.  If 
I  were  to  say  the  characteristic  has  never  been  un- 
beautiful  in  my  eyes,  I  should  be  excusing  what  needs 
no  excuse.  Now,  sir,  I,  in  turn,  am  a  Christian 
broadly  speaking ;  more  formally,  a  Unitarian.  Our 
faiths  are  not  widely  divergent.  We  are  both  liberal ; 
otherwise  marriage  between  us  might  be  a  grave 
experiment.  As  to  forms,  for  me  they  are  a  show, 
but  for  many  they  are  a  necessity,  —  a  sort  of  moral 
backbone  without  which  they  might  fall.  Sunday  is 
to  me  a  day  of  rest  if  my  patients  do  not  need  me. 
I  enjoy  hearing  a  good  sermon  by  any  noble,  broad- 
minded  man,  and  go  to  church  not  only  for  that,  but 
for  the  pleasure  of  having  my  spiritual  tendencies 
given  a  gentle  stirring  up.  There  is  one  holiday  that 
I  keep  and  love  to  keep ;  that  is  Christmas." 

"And  I  honor  you  for  it;  but  loving  this  day  of 


180        OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL. 

days,  looking  for  sympathy  for  it  from  all  you  meet, 
how  will  it  be  when  in  your  own  home  the  wife 
whom  you  love  above  all  others  stands  coldly  by  and 
watches  your  feelings  with  no  answering  sympathy? 
Will  this  not  breed  dissension,  if  not  in  words,  at 
least  in  spirit?  Will  you  not  feel  the  want  and 
resent  it?  " 

Dr.  Kemp  was  silent.  The  question  was  a  telling 
one  and  required  thought;  therefore  he  was  sur- 
prised when  Ruth  answered  for  him.  Her  quiet 
voice  carried  no  sense  of  hysteric  emotion,  but  one 
of  grave  grace. 

She  addressed  her  father;  each  had  refrained 
from  appealing  to  the  other.  The  situation  in  the 
light  of  their  new,  great  love  was  strained  and  un- 
natural. 

"  I  should  endeavor  that  he  should  feel  no  lack," 
she  said ;  "  for  so  far  as  Christmas  is  concerned,  I  am 
a  Christian  also." 

"I  do  not  understand."  Her  father's  lips  were 
dry,  his  voice  husky. 

"  Ever  since  I  have  been  able  to  judge,"  explained 
the  girl,  quietly,  "  Christ  has  been  to  me  the  loveliest 
and  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever  lived.  You  your- 
self, Father,  admire  and  reverence  his  life." 

"Yes?"  His  eyes  were  half  closed  as  if  in  pain; 
he  motioned  to  her  to  continue. 

"  And  so,  in  our  study,  he  was  never  anything  but 
what  was  great  and  good.  Later,  when  I  had  read 
his  '  Sermon  on  the  Mount,'  I  grew  to  see  that  what 
he  preached  was  beautiful.  It  did  not  change  my 
religion;  it  made  me  no  less  a  Jewess  in  the  true 
sense,  but  helped  me  to  gentleness.  To  me  he  be- 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          l8l 

came  the  embodiment  of  Love  in  the  highest,  —  Love 
perfect,  but  warm  and  human ;  human  Love  so  glo- 
rious that  it  needs  no  divinity  to  augment  its  power 
over  us.  He  was  God's  attestation,  God's  symbol  of 
what  Man  might  be.  As  a  teacher  of  brotherly  love, 
he  is  sublime.  So  I  may  call  myself  a  Christian, 
though  I  spell  it  with  a  small  letter.  It  is  right  that 
such  a  man's  birthday  should  be  remembered  with 
love ;  it  shows  what  a  sweet  power  his  name  is, 
when,  as  that  time  approaches,  everybody  seems 
to  love  everybody  better.  Feeling  so,  would  it  be 
wrong  for  me  to  participate  in  my  husband's  actions 
on  that  day?" 

She  received  no  answer.  She  looked  only  at  her 
father  with  loving  earnestness,  and  the  look  of  adora- 
tion Kemp  bent  upon  her  was  quite  lost. 

"Would  this  be  wrong,  Father?  "  she  urged. 

He  straightened  himself  in  his  chair  as  if  under  a 
load.  His  dark,  sallow  face  seemed  to  have  grown 
worn  and  more  haggard. 

"  I  have  always  imagined  myself  just  and  liberal  in 
opinion,"  he  responded ;  "  I  have  sought  to  make  you 
so.  I  never  thought  you  could  leap  thus  far.  It 
were  better  had  I  left  you  to  your  mother.  Wrong  ? 
No ;  you  would  be  but  giving  your  real  feelings  ex- 
pression. But  such  an  expression  would  grieve  — 
Pardon;  I  am  to  consider  your  happiness."  He 
seemed  to  swallow  something,  and  hastily  continued  : 

"  While  we  are  still  on  this  subject,  are  you  aware, 
my  child,  that  you  could  not  be  married  by  a  Jewish 
rabbi?" 

She  started  perceptibly. 

"  I  should  love  to  be  married  by  Doctor  C ." 


1 82  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

As  she  pronounced  the  grand  old  rabbi's  name,  a 
tone  of  reverential  love  accompanied  it. 

"  I  know.  But  you  would  have  to  take  a  justice  as 
a  substitute." 

"  A  Unitarian  minister  would  be  breaking  no  law  in 
uniting  us,  and  I  think  would  not  object  to  do  so ; 
that  is,  of  course,  if  you  had  no  objection."  The 
doctor  looked  at  him  questioningly.  Levice  answered 
by  turning  to  Ruth.  She  passed  her  hand  over  her 
forehead. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  asked,  "  that  after  a  cere- 
mony had  been  performed,  Dr.  C would  bless 

us?  As  a  friend,  would  he  have  to  refuse?" 

"  He  would  be  openly  sanctioning  a  marriage 
which  according  to  the  rabbinical  law  is  no  mar- 
riage at  all.  Do  you  think  he  would  do  this,  not- 
withstanding his  friendship  for  you?"  returned  her 
father.  They  both  looked  at  him  intently. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  answered,  throwing  back  her  head, 
a  half- smile  coming  to  her  pale  lips,  "  it  is  but  a  sen- 
timent, and  I  could  forego  it,  I  suppose.  One  must 
give  up  little  things  sometimes  for  great." 

"  Yes ;  and  this  would  be  but  the  first.  My  chil- 
dren, there  is  something  radically  wrong  when  we 
have  to  overlook  and  excuse  so  much  before  mar- 
riage. '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof; ' 
and  why  should  we  add  trouble  to  days  already 
burdened  before  they  come?" 

"  We  should  find  all  this  no  trouble,"  said  Kemp  ; 
"and  what  is  to  trouble  us  after?  We  have  now  the 
wherewithal  for  our  happiness ;  what,  in  God's  name, 
do  you  ask  for  more?" 

"  As  I  have  said,  Dr.  Kemp,  we  are  an  earnest 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          183 

people.  Marriage  is  a  step  not  entered  into  lightly. 
Divorce,  for  this  reason,  is  seldom  heard  of  with  us,  and 
for  this  reason  we  have  few  unhappy  marriages.  We 
know  beforehand  what  we  have  to  expect  from  every 
quarter.  No  question  I  have  put  would  be  necessary 
with  a  Jew.  His  ways  are  ours,  and,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, a  woman  has  nothing  but  happiness  to  ex- 
pect from  him.  How  am  I  sure  of  this  with  you  ? 
In  a  moment  of  anger  this  difference  of  faith  may  be 
flung  in  each  other's  teeth,  and  what  then  ?  " 

"  You  mean  you  cannot  trust  me." 

The  quiet,  forceful  words  were  accompanied  by  no 
sign  of  emotion.  His  deep  eyes  rested  as  respect- 
fully as  ever  upon  the  old  gentleman's  face.  But  the 
attack  was  a  hard  one  upon  Levice.  A  vein  on  his 
temple  sprang  into  blue  prominence  as  he  quickly 
considered  his  answer. 

"  I  trust  you,  sir,  as  one  gentleman  would  trust  an- 
other in  any  undertaking ;  but  I  have  not  the  same 
knowledge  of  what  to  expect  from  you  as  I  should 
have  from  any  Jew  who  would  ask  for  my  daughter's 
hand." 

"  I  understand  that,"  admitted  the  other;  "but  a 
few  minutes  ago  you  imputed  a  possibility  to  me 
that  would  be  an  impossibility  to  any  gentleman. 
You  may  have  heard  of  such  happenings  among  some, 
but  an  event  of  that  kind  would  be  as  removed  from 
us  as  the  meeting  of  the  poles.  Everything  depends 
on  the  parties  concerned." 

"  Besides,  Father,"  added  Ruth,  her  sweet  voice  full 
with  feeling,  "  when  one  loves  greatly,  one  is  great 
through  love.  Can  true  married  love  ever  be  di- 
vided and  sink  to  this?" 


1 84    OTHER  THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

The  little  white  and  gold  clock  ticked  on ;  it  was 
the  only  sound.  Levice's  forehead  rested  upon  his 
hand  over  which  his  silvery  hair  hung.  Kemp's 
strong  face  was  as  calm  as  a  block  of  granite ;  Ruth's 
was  pale  with  thought. 

Suddenly  the  old  man  threw  back  his  head.  They 
both  started  at  the  revelation :  great  dark  rings 
were  about  his  eyes ;  his  mouth  was  set  in  a  strained 
smile. 

"I  —  I,"  he  cleared  his  throat  as  if  something  im- 
peded his  utterance,  —  "I  have  one  last  suggestion  to 
make.  You  may  have  children.  What  will  be  their 
religion?" 

The  little  clock  ticked  on ;  a  dark  hue  overspread 
Kemp's  face.  As  for  the  girl,  she  scarcely  seemed  to 
hear;  her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her  father's 
changed  face. 

"Well?" 

The  doctor  gave  one  quick  glance  at  Ruth  and 
answered,  — 

"  If  God  should  so  bless  us,  I  think  the  simple  re- 
ligion of  love  enough  for  childhood.  Later,  as  their 
judgment  ripened,  I  should  let  them  choose  for  them- 
selves, as  all  should  be  allowed." 

"And  you,  my  Ruth?  " 

A  shudder  shook  her  frame ;  she  answered 
mechanically,  — 

"  I  should  be  guided  by  my  husband." 

The  little  clock  ticked  on,  backward  and  forward, 
and  forward  and  back,  dully  reiterating,  "Time  flies, 
time  flies." 

"  I  have  quite  finished,"  said  Levice,  rising. 

Kemp  did  likewise. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          185 

"After  all,"  he  said  deferentially,  "you  have  not 
answered  my  question." 

"I  —  think —  I  —  have,"  replied  the  old  man, 
slowly.  "But  to  what  question  do  you  refer?" 

"  The  simple  one,  —  will  you  give  me  your 
daughter?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  will  not." 

Kemp  drew  himself  up,  bowed  low,  and  stood  wait- 
ing some  further  word,  his  face  ashy  white.  Levice's 
lips  trembled  nervously,  and  then  he  spoke  in  a  gen- 
tle, restrained  way,  half  apologetically  and  in  strange 
contrast  to  his  former  violence. 

"  You  see,  I  am  an  old  man  rooted  in  old  ideas ; 
my  wife,  not  so  old,  holds  with  me  in  this.  I  do  not 
know  how  wildly  she  would  take  such  a  proposition. 
But,  Dr.  Kemp,  as  I  said  before,  though  I  object,  I 
shall  not  oppose  this  marriage.  I  love  my  daughter 
too  dearly  to  place  my  beliefs  as  an  obstacle  to  what 
she  considers  her  happiness ;  it  is  she  who  will  have 
to  live  the  life,  not  I.  You  and  I,  sir,  have  been 
friends ;  outside  of  this  one  great  difference  there  is 
no  man  to  whom  I  would  more  gladly  trust  my 
child.  I  honor  and  esteem  you  as  a  gentleman 
who  has  honored  my  child  in  his  love  for  her.  If 
I  have  hurt  you  in  these  bitter  words,  forgive  me; 
as  my  daughter's  husband,  we  must  be  more  than 
friends." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  The  doctor  took  it,  and 
holding  it  tightly  in  his,  made  answer  somewhat 
confusedly,  — 

"  Mr.  Levice,  I  thank  you.  I  can  say  no  more 
now,  except  that  no  son  could  love  and  honor  you 
more  than  I  shall." 


lS6  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Levice  bent  his  head,  and  turned  to  Ruth,  who  sat, 
without  a  movement,  looking  straight  ahead  of  her. 

"  My  darling,"  said  her  father,  softly  laying  his  hand 
on  her  head  and  raising  her  lovely  face,  "  if  I  have 
seemed  selfish  and  peculiar,  trust  me,  dear,  it  was 
through  no  lack  of  love  for  you.  Do  not  consider 
me  ;  forget,  if  you  will,  all  I  have  said.  You  are  bet- 
ter able,  perhaps,  than  I  to  judge  what  is  best  for 
you.  Since  you  love  Dr.  Kemp,  and  if  after  all  this 
thought,  you  feel  you  will  be  happy  with  him,  then 
marry  him.  You  know  that  I  hold  him  highly,  and 
though  I  cannot  honestly  give  you  to  him,  I  shall  not 
keep  you  from  him.  My  child,  the  door  is  open ; 
you  can  pass  through  without  my  hand.  Good-night, 
my  little  girl." 

His  voice  quavered  sadly  over  the  old-time  pet 
name  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her.  He  wrung  the 
doctor's  hand  again  in  passing,  and  abruptly  turned 
to  leave  the  room.  It  was  a  long  room  to  cross. 
Kemp  and  Ruth  followed  with  their  eyes  the  small, 
slightly  stooped  figure  of  the  old  man  passing  slowly 
out  by  himself.  As  the  heavy  portiere  fell  into  place 
behind  him,  the  doctor  turned  to  Ruth,  still  seated  in 
her  chair. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          l8/ 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SHE  was  perfectly  still.  Her  eyes  seemed  gazing 
into  vacancy. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said  softly  ;  but  she  did  not  move. 
His  own  face  showed  signs  of  the  emotions  through 
which  he  had  passed,  but  was  peaceful  as  if  after  a 
long,  triumphant  struggle.  He  came  nearer  and  laid 
his  hand  gently  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Love,"  he  whispered,  "  have  you  forgotten  me 
entirely?  " 

His  hand  shook  slightly;  but  Ruth  gave  no  sign 
that  she  saw  or  heard. 

"  This  has  been  too  much  for  you,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing her  head  to  his  breast.  She  lay  there  as  if  in  a 
trance,  with  eyes  closed,  her  face  lily-white  against 
him.  They  remained  in  this  position  for  some 
minutes  till  he  became  alarmed  at  her  passivity. 

"  You  are  tired,  darling,"  he  said,  stroking  her 
cheek;  "shall  I  leave  you?" 

She  started  up  as  if  alive  to  his  presence  for  the 
first  time,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  turned  giddy 
and  swayed  toward  him.  He  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  I  am  so  dizzy,"  she  laughed  in  a  broken  voice, 
looking  with  dry,  shining  eyes  at  him ;  "  hold  me  for 


1 88  OTHER  THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

He  experienced  a  feeling  of  surprise  as  she  clasped 
her  arms  around  his  neck ;  Ruth  had  been  very  shy 
with  her  caresses. 

His  eyes  met  hers  in  a  long,  strange  look. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

"There  is  an  old  German  song  I  used  to  sing," 
she  replied  musingly ;  "  will  you  think  me  very  foolish 
if  I  say  it  is  repeating  itself  to  me  now,  over  and 
over  again?  " 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  "  he  asked,  humoring  her. 

"Do  you  understand  German?  Oh,  of  course, 
my  student;  but  this  is  a  sad  old  song;  students 
don't  sing  such  things.  These  are  some  of  the 
words  :  '  Behiite  Gott !  es  war  zu  schon  gewesen.'  I 
wish  —  " 

"  It  is  a  miserable  song,"  he  said  lightly ;  "  forget 
it." 

She  disengaged  herself  from  his  arms  and  sat  down. 
Some  late  roisterers  passing  by  in  the  street  were 
heard  singing  to  the  twang  of  a  mandolin.  It  was 
a  full,  deep  song,  and  the  casual  voices  blended  in 
perfect  accord.  As  the  harmony  floated  out  of 
hearing,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  haunting 
smile. 

"  People  are  always  singing  to  us ;  I  wish  they 
would  n't.  Music  is  so  sad ;  it  is  like  a  heart-break." 

He  knelt  beside  her ;  he  was  a  tall  man,  and  the 
action  seemed  natural. 

"  You  are  pale  and  tired,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  am 
going  to  take  a  doctor's  privilege  and  send  you  to 
bed.  To-morrow  you  can  answer  better  what  I  so 
long  to  hear.  You  heard  what  your  father  said; 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  189 

your  answer  rests  entirely  with  you.  Will  you  write, 
or  shall  I  come  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  burning 
in  her  pale  face,  "you  have  very  pretty,  soft  dark 
hair?  Does  it  feel  as  soft  as  it  looks?"  She  raised 
her  hand,  and  ran  her  ringers  lingeringly  through  his 
short,  thick  hair. 

"  Why,"  she  said  brightly,  "  here  are  some  silvery 
threads  on  your  temples.  Troubles,  darling?  " 

"You  shall  pull  them  out,"  he  answered,  drawing 
her  little  hand  to  his  lips. 

"There,  go  away,"  she  said  quickly,  snatching  it 
from  him  and  moving  from  her  chair  as  he  rose. 
She  rested  her  elbow  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  the 
candles  from  the  silver  candelabra  shone  on  her 
face  j  it  looked  strained  and  weary.  Kemp's  brows 
gathered  in  a  'frown  as  he  saw  it. 

"  I  am  going  this  minute,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  wish 
you  to  go  to  bed  at  once.  Don't  think  of  anything 
but  sleep.  Promise  me  you  will  go  to  bed  as  soon  as 
I  leave." 

"Very  well." 

"  Good-night,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  kissing  her 
softly,  "  and  dream  happy  dreams."  He  stooped 
again  to  kiss  her  hands,  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Herbert !  "  His  hand  was  on  the  portiere,  and 
he  turned  in  alarm  at  her  strange  call. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  taking  a  step  toward 
her. 

"Nothing.  Don't  —  don't  come  back,  I  say.  I 
just  wished  to  see  your  face.  I  shall  write  to  you. 
Good-night." 

And  the  curtain  fell  behind  him. 


19°  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

As  he  passed  down  the  gravel  walk,  a  hack  drew  up 
and  stopped  in  front  of  the  house.  Louis  Arnold 
sprang  out.  The  two  men  came  face  to  face. 

Arnold  recognized  the  doctor  immediately  and 
drew  back.  When  Kemp  saw  who  it  was,  he  bowed 
and  passed  on.  Arnold  did  likewise,  but  he  went  in 
where  the  other  went  out. 

It  was  late,  after  midnight.  He  had  just  arrived  on 
a  delayed  southern  train.  He  knew  the  family  had 
come  home  that  morning.  Dr.  Kemp  was  rather 
early  in  making  a  visit ;  it  had  also  taken  him  long 
to  make  it. 

Louis  put  his  key  in  the  latch  and  opened  the 
door.  It  was  very  quiet ;  he  supposed  every  one  had 
retired.  He  flung  his  hat  and  overcoat  on  a  chair 
and  walked  toward  the  staircase.  As  he  passed  the 
drawing-room,  a  stream  of  light  came  from  beneath 
the  portiere.  He  hesitated  in  surprise,  everything 
was  so  quiet.  Probably  the  last  one  had  forgotten  to 
put  out  the  lights.  He  stepped  noiselessly  up  and 
entered  the  room.  His  footfall  made  no  sound  on 
the  soft  carpet  as  he  moved  about  putting  out  the 
lights.  He  walked  to  the  mantel  to  blow  out  the 
candles,  but  stopped,  dumfounded,  within  a  foot  of  it. 
The  thing  that  disturbed  him  was  the  motionless 
white  figure  of  his  cousin.  It  might  have  been  a 
marble  statue,  so  lifeless  she  seemed,  though  her 
face  was  hidden  in  her  hands. 

For  a  moment  Arnold  was  terrified  ;  but  the  feeling 
was  immediately  succeeded  by  one  of  exquisite  pain. 
He  was  a  man  not  slow  to  conjecture ;  by  some 
intuition  he  understood. 

He  quickly  regained  his   presence  of  mind   and 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  IQI 

turned  quietly  to  quit  the  room  ;  his  innate  delicacy 
demanded  it.  He  had  but  turned  when  a  low,  moan- 
ing sound  arrested  him  ;  he  came  back  irresolutely. 

"Did  you  call,  Ruth?" 

Silence. 

"  Ruth,  it  is  I,  Louis,  who  is  speaking  to  you.  Do 
you  know  how  late  it  is?  " 

With  gentle  force  he  drew  her  fingers  from  her 
face.  The  mute  misery  there  depicted  was  pitiful. 

"  Come,  go  to  bed,  Ruth."  he  said  as  to  a  child. 

She  made  a  movement  to  rise,  but  sank  back  again. 

"  I  am  so  tired,  Louis,"  she  pleaded  in  a  voice  of 
tears,  like  a  weary  child. 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  will  help  you."  The  un- 
familiar, gentle  quality  of  his  voice  penetrated  even 
to  her  numbed  senses. 

She  had  not  seen  him  since  the  night  he  had  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife.  No  remembrance  of  .this  came 
to  her,  but  his  presence  held  something  new  and  rest- 
ful. She  allowed  him  to  draw  her  to  her  feet ;  and 
as  calmly  as  a  brother  he  led  her  upstairs  and  into 
her  room.  Without  a  question  he  lit  the  gas  for 
her. 

"  Good-night,  Ruth,"  he  said,  blowing  out  the 
match.  "  Go  right  to  bed ;  your  head  will  be  relieved 
by  sleep." 

"  Thank  you,  Louis,"  she  said,  feeling  dimly  grate- 
ful for  something  his  words  implied  ;  "  good-night." 

Arnold  noiselessly  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
She  quickly  locked  it  and  sat  down  in  the  nearest 
chair. 

Her  hands  were  interlaced  so  tightly  that  her  nails 
left  imprints  in  the  flesh.  She  had  something  to  con- 


1 92  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

sider.  Oh  dear,  it  was  such  a  simple  thing ;  was  she 
to  break  her  father's  heart,  or  her  own  and  —  his  ? 
Her  father's,  or  his. 

It  was  so  stupid  to  sit  and  repeat  it.  Surely  it  was 
decided  long  ago.  Such  a  long  time  ago,  when  her 
father's  loving  face  had  put  on  its  misery.  Would 
it  look  that  way  always  ?  No,  no,  no  !  She  would 
not  have  it;  she  dared  not;  it  was  too  utterly 
wretched. 

Still,  there  was  some  one  else  at  the  thought  of 
whom  her  temples  throbbed  wildly.  It  would  hurt 
him ;  she  knew  it.  The  thought  for  a  moment  was 
a  miserable  ecstasy ;  for  he  loved  her,  —  her,  simple 
Ruth  Levice,  —  beyond  all  doubting  she  knew  he 
loved  her;  and,  oh,  father,  father,  how  she  loved 
him  !  Why  must  she  give  it  all  up  ?  she  questioned 
fiercely ;  did  she  owe  no  duty  to  herself?  Was  she 
to  drag  out  all  the  rest  of  her  weary  life  without  his 
love  ?  Life  !  It  would  be  a  lingering  death,  and 
she  was  young  yet  in  years.  Other  girls  had  married 
with  graver  obstacles,  in  open  rupture  with  their 
parents,  and  they  had  been  happy.  Why  could  not 
she?  It  was  not  as  if  he  were  at  fault;  no  one 
dared  breathe  a  word  against  his  fair  fame.  To  look 
at  his  strong,  handsome  face  meant  confidence.  That 
was  when  he  left  the  room. 

Some  one  else  had  left  the  room  also.  Some  one 
who  had  loved  her  all  her  life,  some  one  who  had 
grown  accustomed  in  more  than  twenty  years  to 
listen  gladly  for  her  voice,  to  anticipate  every  wish,  to 
hold  her  as  in  the  palm  of  a  loving  hand,  to  look 
for  and  rest  on  her  unquestioned  love.  He  too  had 
left  the  room ;  but  he  was  not  strong  and  handsome, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          1 93 

poor,  poor  old  father  with  his  small  bent  shoulders. 
What  a  wretched  thing  it  is  to  be  old  and  have  the 
heart-strings  that  have  so  confidently  twisted  them- 
selves all  these  years  around  another  rudely  cut  off,  — 
and  that  by  your  only  child  ! 

At  the  thought  an  icy  quiet  stole  over  her.  How 
long  she  sat  there,  musing,  debating,  she  did  not 
know.  When  the  gray  dawn  broke,  she  rose  up 
calmly  and  seated  herself  at  her  writing-table.  She 
wrote  steadily  for  some  time  without  erasing  a  single 
word.  She  addressed  the  envelope  without  a  falter 
over  the  name. 

"  That  is  over,"  she  said  audibly  and  deliberately. 

A  cock  crowed.  It  was  the  beginning  of  another 
day. 


194          OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DR.  KEMP  tossed  the  reins  to  his  man,  sprang 
from  his  carriage,  and  hurried  into  his  house. 
"  Burke !  "  he  called  while  closing  the  door, 
"  Burke  ! "  He  walked  toward  the  back  of  the 
house  and  into  the  kitchen,  still  calling.  Finding  it 
empty,  he  walked  back  again  and  began  a  still  hunt 
about  the  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  various  rooms. 
Being  unsuccessful,  he  went  into  his  bedroom,  made  a 
hasty  toilet,  and  hurried  again  to  the  kitchen. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Burke?"  he  exclaimed  as 
that  spare-looking  personage  turned,  spoon  in  hand, 
from  the  range. 

"Right  here,  General,"  he  replied  in  surprise, 
"  except  when  I  went  out." 

"  Well ;  did  any  mail  come  here  for  me  ?  " 

"  One  little  Billy-do,  General.  I  put  it  under  your 
dinner- plate ;  and  shall  I  serve  the  soup?"  the  last 
was  bellowed  after  his  master's  retreating  form. 

"Wait  till  I  ring,"  he  called  back. 

He  lifted  his  solitary  plate,  snatched  up  the  little 
letter,  and  sat  down  hastily,  conscious  of  a  slight 
excitement. 

His  name  and  address  stared  at  him  from  the 
white  envelope  in  a  round,  firm  hand.  There  was 
something  about  the  loop-letters  that  reminded  him  of 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  1 95 

her,  and  he  passed  his  hand  caressingly  over  the 
surface.  He  did  not  break  the  seal  for  some 
minutes,  —  anticipation  is  sometimes  sweeter  than 
realization.  Finally  it  was  done,  but  he  closed  his 
eyes  for  a  second,  —  a  boyish  trick  of  his  that  had 
survived  when  he  wished  some  expected  pleasure  to 
spring  suddenly  upon  him.  How  would  she  address 
him  ?  The  memory  of  their  last  meeting  gave  him 
courage,  and  he  opened  his  eyes.  The  denouement 
was  disconcerting.  Directly  under  the  tiny  white 
monogram  she  had  begun  without  heading  of  any 
description :  — 

It  was  cruel  of  me  to  let  you  go  as  I  did :  you  were 
hopeful  when  you  left.  I  led  you  to  this  state  for  a 
purely  selfish  reason.  After  all,  it  saved  you  the  anguish 
of  knowing  it  was  a  final  farewell ;  for  even  then  I  knew 
it  could  never  be.  Never  !  forever  !  —  do  you  know  the 
meaning  of  those  two  long  words  ?  I  do.  They  have 
burned  themselves  irrevocably  into  my  brain ;  try  to  un- 
derstand them,  —  they  are  final. 

I  retract  nothing  that  I  said  to  my  father  in  your  pres- 
ence ;  you  know  exactly  how  I  still  consider  what  is 
separating  us.  I  am  wrong.  Only  /  am  causing  this 
separation ;  no  one  else  could  or  would.  Do  not  blame 
my  father ;  if  he  were  to  see  me  writing  thus  he  would 
beg  me  to  desist ;  he  would  think  I  am  sacrificing  my 
happiness  for  him.  I  have  no  doubt  you  think  so  now. 
Let  me  try  to  make  you  understand  how  different  it 
really  is.  I  am  no  Jephthah's  daughter, — he  wants  no 
sacrifice,  and  I  make  none.  Duty,  the  hardest  word  to 
learn,  is  not  leading  me.  You  heard  my  father's  words  ; 
but  not  holding  him  as  I  do,  his  face  could  not  recoil 
upon  your  heart  like  a  death's  hand. 

I  am  trying  to  write  coherently  and  to  the  point :  see 
what  a  coward  I  am !  Let  me  say  it  now,  —  I  could 
never  be  happy  with  you.  Do  you  remember  Shylock, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

—  the  old  man  who  withdrew  from  the  merry-making 
with  a  breaking  heart  ?  I  could  not  make  merry  while 
he  wept;  my  heart  would  weep  also.  You  see  how 
selfish  I  am ;  I  am  doing  it  for  my  own  sake,  and  for 
no  one's  else. 

And  that  is  why  I  ask  you  now  to  forgive  me,  —  be- 
cause I  am  not  noble  enough  to  consider  you  when  my 
happiness  is  at  stake.  I  suppose  I  am  a  light  person 
seemingly  to  play  thus  with  a  man's  heart.  If  this  reflec- 
tion can  rob  you  of  regret,  think  me  so.  Does  it  sound 
presumptuous  or  ironical  for  me  to  say  I  shall  pray  you 
may  be  happy  without  me  ?  Well,  it  is  said  hearts  do 
not  break  for  love,  —  that  is,  not  quickly.  If  you  will 
just  think  of  what  I  have  done,  surely  you  will  not  regret 
your  release ;  you  may  yet  find  a  paradise  with  some 
other  and  better  woman.  No,  I  am  not  harsh  or  un- 
reasonable ;  even  /  expect  to  be  happy.  Why  should 
not  you,  then,  —  you,  a  man  ;  I,  a  woman  ?  Forget  me. 
In  your  busy,  full  life  this  should  be  easy.  Trust  me, 
no  woman  is  worthy  of  spoiling  your  life  for  you. 

My  pen  keeps  trailing  on ;  like  summer  twilight  it  is 
loath  to  depart.  I  am  such  a  woman.  I  may  never  see 
your  face  again.  Will  you  not  forgive  me  ? 

RUTH. 

He  looked  up  with  a  bloodless  face  at  Burke 
standing  with  the  smoking  soup. 

"  I  —  I  —  thought  you  had  forgotten  to  ring,"  he 
stammered,  shocked  at  the  altered  face. 

"  Take  it  away,"  said  his  master,  hoarsely,  rising 
from  his  chair.  "  I  do  not  wish  any  dinner,  Burke. 
I  am  going  to  my  office,  and  must  not  be  disturbed." 

The  man  looked  after  him  with  a  sadly  wondering 
shake  of  his  head,  and  went  back  to  his  more  com- 
prehensible pots  and  kettles. 

Kemp  walked  steadily  into  his  office,  lit  the  gas, 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  1 97 

and  sat  down  at  his  desk.  He  began  to  re-read  the 
letter  slowly  from  the  beginning.  It  took  a  long 
time,  for  he  read  between  the  lines.  A  deep  groan 
escaped  him  as  he  laid  it  down.  It  was  written  as 
she  would  have  spoken ;  he  could  see  the  expression 
of  her  face  in  the  written  words,  and  a  miserable 
empty  feeling  of  powerlessness  came  upon  him.  He 
did  not  blame  her,  —  how  could  he,  with  that  sad 
evidence  of  her  breaking  heart  before  him  ?  He  got 
up  and  paced  the  floor.  His  head  was  throbbing, 
and  a  cold,  sick  Reeling  almost  overpowered  him. 
The  words  of  the  letter  repeated  themselves  to  him. 
"  Paradise  with  some  other,  better  woman,"  —  she 
might  have  left  that  out ;  she  knew  better ;  she  was 
only  trying  to  cheat  herself.  "I  too  shall  be  happy." 
Not  that,  not  some  other  man's  wife,  —  the  thought 
was  demoniacal.  He  caught  his  reflection  in  the 
glass  in  passing.  "  I  must  get  out  of  this,"  he 
laughed  with  dry,  parched  lips.  He  seized  his  hat 
and  went  out.  The  wind  was  blowing  stiffly;  for 
hours  he  wrestled  with  it,  and  then  came  home  and 
wrote  to  her  :  — 

I  can  never  forgive  you ;  love's  litany  holds  no  such 
word.  Be  happy  if  you  can,  my  Santa  Filomena  ;  it  will 
help  me  much,  — the  fact  that  you  are  somewhere  in  the 
world  and  not  desolate  will  make  life  more  worth  the  living. 
If  it  will  strengthen  you  to  know  that  I  shall  always  love 
you,  the  knowledge  will  be  eternally  true.  Wherever 
you  are,  whatever  the  need,  remember  —  I  am  at  hand. 

HERBERT   KEMP. 

Mr.  Levice's  face  was  more  haggard  than  Ruth's 
when,  after  this  answer  was  received,  she  came  to 


19$  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

him  with  a  gentle  smile,  despite  the  heavy  shadows 
around  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  all  over,  Father,"  she  said ;  "  we  have 
parted  forever.  Perhaps  I  did  not  love  him  enough 
to  give  up  so  much  for  him.  At  any  rate  I  shall  be 
happier  with  you,  dear." 

"  Are  you  sure,  my  darling?  " 

"  Quite  sure ;  and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said  of 
it.  Remember,  it  is  dead  and  buried ;  we  must 
never  remind  each  other  of  it  again.  Kiss  me, 
Father,  and  forget  that  it  has  been." 

Mr.  Levice  drew  a  long  sigh,  partly  of  relief,  partly 
of  pain,  as  he  looked  into  her  lovely,  resolute  face. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  1 99 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WE  do  not  live  wholly  through  ourselves.  What 
is  called  fate  is  but  the  outcome  of  the  spin- 
ning of  other  individuals  twisted  into  the  woof  of  our 
own  making ;  so  no  life  should  be  judged  as  a  unit. 
Ruth  Levice  was  not  alone  in  the  world ;  she  was 
neither  a  recluse  nor  a  genius,  but  a  girl  with  many 
loving  friends  and  a  genial  home-life.  Having  re- 
solved to  bear  to  the  world  an  unchanged  front,  she 
outwardly  did  as  she  had  always  done.  Her  mother's 
zealous  worldliness  returned  with  her  health ;  and 
Ruth  fell  in  with  all  her  plans  for  a  gay  winter,  — 
that  is,  the  plans  were  gay;  Ruth's  presence  could 
hardly  be  termed  so.  The  old  spontaneous  laugh 
was  superseded  by  a  gentle  smile,  sympathetic  per- 
haps, but  never  joyous.  She  listened  more,  and 
seldom  now  took  the  lead  in  a  general  conversation, 
though  there  was  a  charm  about  a  tete-a-tete  with  her 
that  earnest  persons,  men  and  women,  felt  without  be- 
ing able  to  define  it.  For  the  change,  without  doubt, 
was  there.  It  was  as  if  a  quiet  hand  had  been 
passed  over  her  exuberant,  happy  girlhood  and  left  a 
serious,  thoughtful  woman  in  its  stead.  A  subtile 
change  like  this  is  not  speedily  noticed  by  outsiders ; 
it  requires  usage  before  an  acquaintance  will  ac- 
count it  a  characteristic  instead  of  a  mood.  But  her 


200  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

family  knew  it.  Mrs.  Levice,  wholly  in  the  dark  as 
to  the  cause,  wondered  openly. 

"  You  might  be  thirty,  Ruth,  instead  of  twenty-two, 
by  the  staidness  of  your  demeanor.  While  other 
girls  are  laughing  and  chatting  as  girls  should,  you 
look  on  with  the  tolerant  dignity  of  a  woman  of  grave 
concerns.  If  you  had  anything  to  trouble  you,  there 
might  be  some  excuse ;  but  as  it  is,  why  can't  you  go 
into  enjoyments  like  the  rest  of  your  friends?  " 

"  Don't  I  ?  Why,  I  hardly  know  another  girl  who 
lives  in  such  constant  gayety  as  I.  Are  we  not  going 
to  a  dinner  this  evening  and  to  the  ball  to-morrow 
night?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  might  as  well  be  going  to  a  funeral 
for  all  the  pleasure  you  seem  to  anticipate.  If  you 
come  to  a  ball  with  such  a  grandly  serious  air,  the 
men  will  just  as  soon  think  of  asking  a  statue  to 
dance  as  you.  A  statue  may  be  beautiful  in  its  niche, 
but  people  do  not  care  to  study  its  meaning  at  a 
ball." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Mamma  ?  I  should 
hate  the  distinction  of  a  wall-flower,  which  you  think 
imminent.  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  big  a  woman  to  be 
frolicsome." 

"  You  never  were  that,  but  you  were  at  least  a  girl. 
People  will  begin  to  think  you  consider  yourself 
above  them,  or  else  that  you  have  some  secret 
trouble." 

The  smile  of  incredulity  with  which  she  answered 
her  would  have  been  heart-breaking  had  it  been  un- 
derstood. No  flush  stained  the  ivory  pallor  of  her 
face  at  these  thrusts  in  the  dark;  Louis  was  never 
annoyed  in  this  way  now.  Her  old-time  excited 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          2OI 

contradictions  never  obtruded  themselves  in  their 
conversations.  A  silent  knowledge  lay  between  them 
which  neither,  by  word  or  look,  ever  alluded  to. 
Mrs.  Levice  noted  with  delight  their  changed  rela- 
tions. Louis's  sarcasm  ceased  to  be  directed  at 
Ruth ;  and  though  the  familiar  sparring  was  missing, 
Mrs.  Levice  preferred  his  deferential  bearing  when 
he  addressed  her,  and  Ruth's  grave  graciousness 
with  him.  She  drew  her  own  conclusions,  and  ac- 
cepted Ruth's  quietness  with  more  patience  on  this 
account. 

Louis  understood  somewhat ;  and  in  his  manliness 
he  could  not  hide  that  her  suffering  had  cost  him  a 
new  code  of  actions.  But  he  could  not  understand 
as  her  father  did.  Despite  her  brave  smile,  Levice 
could  almost  read  her  heart-beats,  and  the  knowledge 
brought  a  hardness  and  a  bitter  regret.  He  grew  to 
scanning  her  face  surreptitiously,  looking  in  vain  for 
the  old,  untroubled  delight  in  things ;  and  when  the 
unmistakable  signs  of  secret  anguish  would  leave 
traces  at  times,  he  would  turn  away  with  a  groan. 
Yet  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  He  knew  that  her 
love  had  been  no  light  thing  nor  could  her  giving  up 
be  so ;  but  feeling  that  no  matter  what  the  present 
cost,  the  result  would  compensate,  he  trusted  to  time 
to  heal  the  wound.  Meanwhile  his  own  self-blame 
at  these  times  left  its  mark  upon  him. 

For  Ruth  lived  a  dual  life.  The  real  one  was 
passed  in  her  quiet  chamber,  in  her  long  solitary 
walks,  and  when  she  sat  with  her  book,  apparently 
reading.  She  would  look  up  with  blank,  despairing 
eyes,  clinched  hands,  and  hard-set  teeth  when  the 
thought  of  him  and  all  her  loss  would  steal  upon  her. 


202  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Her  father  had  caught  many  such  a  look  upon  her  face. 
She  had  resolved  to  live  without  him,  but  accom- 
plishment is  not  so  easy.  Besides,  it  was  not  as  if  she 
never  saw  him.  San  Francisco  is  not  so  large  a 
city  but  that  by  the  turning  of  a  corner  you  may 
not  come  across  a  friend.  Ruth  grew  to  study  the 
sounds  the  different  kinds  of  vehicles  made ;  and  the 
rolling  wheels  of  a  doctor's  carriage  behind  her  would 
set  her  pulses  fluttering  in  fright. 

She  was  walking  one  day  along  Sutter  Street  to- 
ward Gough  from  Octavia.  The  street  takes  a  sud- 
den down-grade  midway  in  the  block.  She  was 
approaching  this  declension  just  before  the  Boys' 
High  School  when  a  carriage  drove  quickly  up  the 
hill  toward  her.  The  horses  gave  a  bound  as  if  the 
reins  had  been  jerked  ;  there  was  the  momentary 
flash  of  a  man's  stern,  white  face  as  he  raised  his  hat ; 
and  Ruth  was  walking  down  the  hill,  trembling  and 
pale.  It  was  the  first  time ;  and  for  one  minute  her 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  and  then  rushed  wildly 
on.  Whether  she  had  bowed  or  made  any  sign  of 
recognition,  she  did  not  know.  It  did  not  matter, 
though ;  if  he  thought  her  cold  or  strange  or  any- 
thing, what  difference  could  it  possibly  make?  For 
her  there  would  be  left  forever  this  dead  emptiness. 
These  casual  meetings  were  inevitable  ;  and  she  would 
come  home  after  them  worn-out  and  heavy-eyed. 
"  A  slight  headache  "  was  a  recurrent  excuse  with  her. 

They  had  common  friends,  and  it  would  not  have 
been  surprising  had  she  met  him  at  the  different 
affairs  to  which  she  went,  always  through  her  mother's 
desire.  But  the  dread  of  coming  upon  him  slowly 
departed  as  the  months  rolled  by  and  with  them 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          2O3 

all  token  of  him.  Time  and  again  she  would  hear 
allusions  to  him.  "Dr.  Kemp  has  developed  into 
a  misogynist,"  pouted  Dorothy  Gwynne.  "He  was 
one  of  the  few  decided  eligibles  on  the  horizon,  but 
it  requires  the  magnet  of  illness  to  draw  him  now. 
I  really  must  look  up  the  symptoms  of  a  possible 
ache ;  the  toilet  and  expression  of  an  invalid  are 
very  becoming,  you  know." 

"Dr.  Kemp  made  a  splendid  donation  to  our 
kindergarten  to-day.  I  have  not  seen  him  since  we 
were  in  the  country,  and  he  thought  me  looking  very 
well.  He  inquired  after  the  family,  and  I  told  him  we 
had  a  residence,  at  which  he  smiled."  This  from 
Mrs.  Levice.  Ruth  would  have  given  much  to  have 
been  able  to  ask  after  him  with  self-possession,  but 
the  muscles  of  her  throat  seemed  to  swell  and  choke 
her  while  silent.  She  went  now  and  then  to  see  Bob 
Bard  in  his  flower-store ;  he  would  without  fail 
inquire  after  "  our  friend  "  or  tell  her  of  his  having 
passed  that  day.  Here  was  her  one  chance  of 
inquiring  if  he  was  looking  well,  to  which  the 
answer  was  invariably  "yes." 

She  sat  one  night  at  the  opera  in  her  wonted 
beauty,  with  her  soft,  dusky  hair  rolled  from  her 
sweet  Madonna  face.  Many  a  lorgnette  was  raised  a 
second  and  a  third  time  toward  her.  Louis,  seated 
next  to  her,  resented  with  unaccountable  ferocity  this 
free  admiration  that  she  did  not  see  or  feel. 

As  the  curtain  went  down  on  the  first  act,  he  drew 
her  attention  to  some  celebrity  then  passing  out. 
She  raised  her  glass,  but  her  hand  fell  nerveless  in  her 
lap.  Immediately  following  him  came  Dr.  Kemp. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  he  bowed  low,  passing  on  imme- 


204  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

diately.  The  rest  of  the  evening  passed  like  a  night- 
mare ;  she  heard  nothing  but  her  heart-throbs,  saw 
nothing  but  his  beloved  face  regarding  her  with 
simple  courtesy.  Louis  knew  that  for  her  the  opera 
was  over ;  the  tell-tale  bistrous  shadows  grew  around 
her  eyes,  and  she  became  deadly  silent. 

"  What  a  magnificent  man  he  is,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Levice,  "  and  what  an  impressive  bow  he  has  !  " 
Ruth  did  not  hear  her ;  but  when  she  reached  her 
own  room,  she  threw  herself  face  downward  on  her 
bed  in  intolerable  anguish.  She  was  not  a  girl  who 
cried  easily.  If  she  had  been,  her  suffering  would 
not  have  been  so  intense,  —  when  the  flood-gates 
are  opened,  the  river  finds  relief.  Over  and  over 
again  she  wished  she  might  die  and  end  this  eager, 
passionate  craving  for  some  token  of  love  from  him, 
or  for  the  power  of  letting  him  know  how  it  was  with 
her.  And  it  would  always  be  thus  as  long  as  she 
lived.  She  did  not  deceive  herself;  no  mere  friend- 
ship would  have  sufficed,  —  all  or  nothing  after  what 
had  been. 

Physically,  however,  she  bore  no  traces  of  this  con- 
tinual restraint.  On  the  contrary,  her  slender  figure 
matured  to  womanly  proportions.  Little  children, 
seeing  her,  smiled  responsively  at  her,  or  clamored  to 
be  taken  into  her  arms,  there  was  such  a  tender, 
mother-look  about  her.  By  degrees  her  friends  began 
to  feel  the  repose  of  her  intellect  and  the  sympathy 
of  her  face,  and  came  to  regard  her  as  the  queen  of 
confidantes.  Young  girls  with  their  continual  love 
episodes  and  excitements,  ambitious  youths  with  their 
whimsical  schemes  of  life  and  aspirations  of  love, 
sought  her  out  openly.  Few  of  these  latter  dared 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          2O5 

hope  for  any  individual  thought  from  her,  though 
any  of  the  older  men  would  have  staked  a  good 
deal  for  the  knowledge  that  she  singled  him  for 
her  consideration. 

Arnold  viewed  it  all  with  inward  satisfaction.  He 
regarded  memory  but  as  a  sort  of  palimpsest ;  and  he 
was  patiently  waiting  until  his  own  name  should  ap- 
pear again,  when  the  other's  should  have  been  suffi- 
ciently obliterated. 

It  was  a  severe  winter,  and  everybody  appreciated 
the  luxury  of  a  warm  home.  December  came  in  wet 
and  cold,  and  la  grippe  held  the  country  in  its  dis- 
agreeable hold.  The  Levices  were  congratulating 
themselves  one  evening  on  their  having  escaped  the 
epidemic. 

"  I  suppose  the  secret  of  it  lies  in  the  fact  that  we 
do  not  coddle  ourselves,"  observed  Levice. 

"  If  you  were  to  coddle  yourself  a  little  more," 
retorted  his  wife,  "  you  would  not  cough  every  morn- 
ing as  you  do.  Really,  Jules,  if  you  do  not  consult  a 
physician,  I  shall  send  for  Kemp  myself.  I  actually 
think  it  is  making  you  thin." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  he  replied  carelessly ;  "  it  is  only  a 
little  irritation  of  the  throat  every  morning.  If  the 
weather  is  clear  next  week,  I  must  go  to  New  York. 
Eh,  Louis?" 

"  At  this  time  of  the  year !  "  cried  Mrs.  Levice,  in 
expostulation. 

"  Some  one  has  to  go,  and  the  only  one  that  should 
is  I." 

"  I  think  I  could  manage  it,"  said  Louis,  "  if  you 
would  see  about  the  other  adjustment  while  I  am 
gone." 


2O6  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  No,  you  could  not," — when  Levice  said  "no," 
it  seldom  meant  an  ultimate  "  yes."  "  Besides,  the 
trip  will  do  me  good." 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,"  put  in  Mrs.  Levice, 
decidedly. 

"  No,  dear ;  you  could  not  stand  the  cold  in  New 
York,  and  I  could  not  be  bothered  with  a  woman's 
grip-sack." 

"  Take  Ruth,  then." 

"I  should  love  to  go  with  you,  Father,"  she  replied 
to  the  questioning  glance  of  his  eyes.  He  seemed  to 
ponder  over  it  for  a  while,  but  shook  his  head  finally. 

"  No,"  he  said  again ;  "I  shall  be  very  busy,  and  a 
woman  would  be  a  nuisance  to  me.  Besides,  I  wish 
to  be  alone  for  a  while." 

They  all  looked  at  him  in  surprise ;  he  was  so 
unused  to  making  testy  remarks. 

"  Grown  tired  of  womankind?  "  asked  Mrs.  Levice, 
playfully.  "  Well,  if  you  must,  you  must ;  don't  over- 
stay your  health  and  visit,  and  bring  us  something 
pretty.  How  long  will  you  be  gone?" 

"That  depends  on  the  speediness  of  the  courts. 
No  more  than  three  weeks  at  the  utmost,  however." 

So  the  following  Wednesday  being  bright  and 
sunny,  he  set  off;  the  family  crossed  the  bay  with 
him. 

"Take  care  of  your  mother,  Ruth,"  he  said  at 
parting,  "and  of  yourself,  my  pale  darling." 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  Father,"  she  said,  pulling 
up  his  furred  collar ;  "  indeed,  I  am  well  and  happy. 
If  you  could  believe  me,  perhaps  you  would  love 
me  as  much  as  you  used  to." 

"  As  much  !     My  child,  I  never  loved  you  better 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

than  now ;  remember  that.  I  think  I  have  forgotten 
everybody  else  in  you." 

"  Don't,  dear  !  it  makes  me  feel  miserable  to  think 
I  should  cause  you  a  moment's  uneasiness.  Won't 
you  believe  that  everything  is  as  I  wish  it?  " 

"  If  I  could,  I  should  have  to  lose  the  memory  of 
the  last  four  months.  Well,  try  your  best  to  forgive 
me,  child." 

"Unless  you  hate  me,  don't  hurt  me  with  that 
thought  again.  I  forgive  you?  I,  who  am  the 
cause  of  it  all?" 

He  kissed  her  tear-filled  eyes  tenderly,  and  turned 
with  a  sigh  to  her  mother. 

They  watched  to  the  last  his  loved  face  at  the 
window,  Ruth  with  a  sad  smile  and  a  loving  wave 
of  her  handkerchief. 

Over  at  the  mole  it  is  not  a  bad  place  to  witness 
tragedies.  Pathos  holds  the  upper  hand,  and  the 
welcomes  are  sometimes  as  heart-rending  as  the 
leave-takings.  A  woman  stood  on  the  ferry  with  a 
blank,  working  face  down  which  the  tears  fell  heed- 
lessly; a  man,  her  husband,  turned  from  her,  drew 
his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and  stalked  off  toward 
the  train  without  a  backward  glance.  Parting  is  a 
figure  of  death  in  this  respect,  —  that  only  those  who 
are  left  need  mourn ;  the  others  have  something  new 
beyond. 


208  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  fire-light  threw  grotesque  shadows  on  the 
walls.  Ruth  and  Louis  in  the  library  made  no 
movement  to  ring  for  lights ;  it  was  quite  cosey  as  it 
was.  They  had  both  drawn  near  the  crackling  wood- 
blaze,  Ruth  in  a  low  rocker,  Arnold  in  Mr.  Levice's 
broad  easy-chair. 

"  I  surely  thought  you  intended  going  to  the  con- 
cert this  evening,  Louis,"  she  said,  looking  across  at 
him.  "  I  fancy  Mamma  expected  you  to  accompany 
her." 

"  What !  Voluntarily  put  myself  into  the  cold 
when  there  is  a  fire  blazing  right  here  ?  Ah,  no.  At 
any  rate,  your  mother  is  all  right  with  the  Lewises, 
and  I  am  all  right  with  you." 

"  I  give  you  a  guarantee  I  shall  not  bite ;  you  look 
altogether  too  hard  for  my  cannibalistic  propensities." 

"  It  is  something  not  to  be  accounted  soft.  I 
think  a  redundancy  of  flesh  overflows  in  trickling 
sentimentality.  My  worst  enemy  could  not  accuse 
me  of  either  fault." 

"  But  your  best  friend  would  not  mind  a  little  thaw 
now  and  then.  One  of  the  girls  confided  to  me  to- 
day that  walking  on  an  over-waxed  floor  was 
nothing  to  attempting  an  equal  footing  in  con- 
versation with  you." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          209 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  such  a  slippery  customer.  Does  not 
the  fire  burn  your  face?  Shall  I  hand  you  a  screen?  " 

"  No  ;  I  like  to  toast." 

"  But  your  complexion  might  char ;  move  your 
chair  a  little  forward." 

"  In  two  minutes  I  intend  to  have  lights  and  to 
bring  my  work  down.  Will  it  make  you  tired  to 
watch  me?  " 

"  Exceedingly.  I  prefer  your  undivided  attention ; 
it  is  not  often  we  are  alone,  Ruth." 

She  looked  up  slightly  startled ;  he  seldom  made 
personal  remarks.  Her  pulses  began  to  flutter  with 
the  premonition  that  reference  to  a  tacitly  buried 
secret  was  going  to  be  made. 

"We  have  been  going  out  and  receiving  a  good 
deal  lately,  though  somehow  I  don't  feel  festive,  with 
Father  away  in  freezing  New  York.  Mamma  would 
gladly  have  stayed  at  home  to-night  if  Jennie  had 
not  insisted." 

"  You  think  so  ?  I  fancy  she  was  a  very  willing 
captive  :  she  intimated  as  much  to  me." 

"How?" 

"  Not  in  words,  but  her  eyes  were  interesting  read- 
ing :  first,  capitulation  to  Jennie,  then,  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, inspiration,  command,  entreaty,  a  challenge 
and  retreat,  all  directed  at  me.  Possibly  this  elo- 
quence was  lost  upon  you." 

"  Entirely.     What  was  your  interpretation?" 

"Ah,  that  was  confidential.  Perhaps  I  even  en- 
dowed her  with  these  thoughts,  knowing  her  desires 
were  in  touch  with  my  own." 

"  It  is  wanton  cruelty  to  arouse  a  woman's  curiosity 
and  leave  it  unsatisfied." 

14 


2IO  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  It  is  not  cruelty ;  it  is  cowardice." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  wonder.  His  apple-blossom 
cheeks  wore  a  rosier  glow  than  usual.  He  seized  a 
log  from  the  box,  threw  it  on  the  blaze  that  illumined 
their  faces,  grasped  the  poker,  and  leaning  forward  in 
his  chair  let  it  grow  hot  as  he  held  it  to  the  flames. 
His  glasses  fell  off,  dangling  from  the  cord ;  and  as  he 
adjusted  them,  he  caught  the  curious,  half-amused 
smile  on  Ruth's  attentive  face.  He  gave  the  fire  a 
sharp  raking  and  addressed  her,  gazing  into  the 
leaping  flames. 

"  I  was  wondering  why,  after  all,  you  could  not  be 
happy  as  my  wife." 

A  numbness  as  of  death  overspread  her. 

"  I  think  I  could  make  you  happy,  Ruth." 

In  the  pregnant  silence  that  followed  he  looked 
up,  and  meeting  her  sad,  reproachful  eyes,  laid  down 
the  poker  softly  but  resolutely ;  there  was  method 
in  the  action. 

"  In  fact,  I  know  I  could  make  you  happy." 

"Louis,  have  you  forgotten?"  she  cried  in  sharp 
pain. 

"  I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  he  replied  incisively. 
"  Listen  to  me,  Ruth.  It  is  because  I  remember  that 
I  ask  you.  Give  me  the  right  to  care  for  you,  and 
you  will  be  happier  than  you  can  ever  be  in  these 
circumstances." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  ask,  Louis.  Even  if 
I  could,  you  would  never  be  satisfied." 

"  Try  me,  Ruth,"  he  entreated. 

She  raised  herself  from  her  easy,  reclining  position, 
and  regarded  him  earnestly. 

"  What  you  desire,"  she  said  in  a  restrained  manner, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          211 

"would  be  little  short  of  a  crime  for  me.  What 
manner  of  wife  should  I  be  to  you  when  my  every 
thought  is  given  to  another?  " 

His  face  put  on  the  set  look  of  one  who  has  shut 
his  teeth  hard  together. 

"  I  anticipated  this  repulse,"  he  said  after  a  pause ; 
"  so  what  you  have  just  assured  me  of  does  not 
affect  my  wish  or  my  resolution  to  continue  my 
plea." 

"  Would  you  marry  a  woman  who  feels  herself  as 
closely  bound  to  another,  or  the  memory  of  another, 
as  if  the  marriage  rite  had  been  actually  performed? 
Oh,  Louis,  how  could  you  force  me  to  these 
disclosures?  " 

"  I  am  seeking  no  disclosure,  but  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  continue  silent  now." 

"Why?" 

"Why?     Because  I  love  you." 

They  sat  so  close  together  he  might  have  touched 
her  by  putting  out  his  hand,  but  he  remained  per- 
fectly still,  only  the  pale  excitement  of  long  repression 
speaking  from  his  face ;  but  she  shrank  back  at  his 
words  and  raised  her  hand  as  if  about  to  receive  a 
blow. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  continued,  noticing  the 
action ;  "  my  love  cannot  hurt  you,  or  it  would  have 
killed  you  long  ago." 

"  Oh,  Louis,"  she  murmured,  "  forgive  me  ;  I  never 
thought  you  cared  so  much." 

"  How  should  you  ?  I  am  not  a  man  to  wear  my 
heart  upon  my  sleeve.  I  think  I  have  always  loved 
you ;  but  living  as  familiarly  as  we  have  lived,  seeing 
you  whenever  I  wished,  the  thought  that  some  day 


212  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

this  might  end  never  occurred  to  me.  It  was  only 
when  the  possibility  of  some  other  man's  claiming 
your  love  and  taking  you  from  me  presented  itself, 
that  my  heart  rose  up  in  arms  against  it,  —  and  then 
I  asked  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  raising  her  pale  face  ;  "  and  I 
refused.  The  same  cause  that  moved  me  then,  and 
to  which  you  submitted  without  protest,  rules  me  now, 
and  you  know  it." 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  know  it.  What  then  might  have  had 
a  possible  issue  is  now  done  with  —  or  do  I  err?  " 

Her  mouth  trembled  piteously,  but  no  tears  came 
as  she  lowered  her  head. 

"  Then  listen  to  me.  You  may  think  me  a  poor 
sort  of  a  fellow  even  to  wish  you  to  marry  me  when 
you  assure  me  that  you  love  another.  That  means 
that  you  do  not  love  me  as  a  husband  should  be  loved, 
but  it  does  not  prove  that  you  never  could  love 
me  so." 

"  It  proves  just  that." 

"  No,  you  may  think  so  now,  but  let  me  reason  you 
into  seeing  the  falsity  of  your  thought,  —  for  I  do  not 
wish  to  force  or  impel  you  to  do  a  thing  repugnant  to 
your  reason  as  well  as  to  your  feelings.  To  begin 
with,  you  do  not  dislike  me?" 

His  face  was  painful  in  its  eagerness. 

"  I  have  always  loved  you  as  a  dear  brother." 

"  Some  people  would  consider  that  worse  than  hos- 
tility ;  I  do  not.  Another  question  :  Is  there  any- 
thing about  my  life  or  personality  to  which  you  object, 
or  of  which  you  are  ashamed?  " 

"  You  know  how  proud  we  all  are  of  you  in  your 
bearing  in  every  relation  of  life." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.      213 

"I  was  egotist  enough  to  think  as  much  at  any 
rate ;  otherwise  I  could  not  approach  you  so  confi- 
dently. Well,  love  —  indifferent  if  you  will  —  and  re- 
spect are  not  a  bad  foundation  for  something  stronger. 
Will  you,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  suppose  that  for 
some  reason  you  have  forgotten  your  opposition  and 
have  been  led  into  marrying  me?  " 

The  sad  indulgence  of  her  smile  was  not  inspiriting, 
but  he  continued, — 

"  Now,  then,  say  you  are  my  wife  ;  that  means  I  am 
your  husband,  and  I  love  you.  You  do  not  return  my 
love,  you  say ;  you  think  you  would  be  wretched  with 
me  because  you  love  another.  Still,  you  are  married 
to  me ;  that  gives  me  rights  that  no  other  man  can 
possess,  no  matter  how  much  you  love  him.  You  are 
bound  to  me,  I  to  you  and  your  happiness ;  so  I 
pledge  myself  to  make  you  happier  than  you  are  now, 
because  I  shall  make  you  forget  this  man." 

"  You  could  not,  and  I  should  only  grow  to  hate 
you." 

"  Impossible,"  the  pallor  of  his  face  intensifying ; 
"because  I  should  so  act  that  my  love  would  wait 
upon  your  pleasure  :  it  would  never  push  itself  into 
another's  place,  but  it  would  in  time  overshadow 
the  other.  For,  remember,  I  shall  be  your  husband. 
I  shall  give  you  another  life ;  I  shall  take  you  away 
with  me.  You  will  leave  all  your  old  friends  and 
associations  for  a  while,  and  I  shall  be  with  you 
always,  —  not  intrusively,  but  necessarily.  I  shall 
give  you  every  pleasure  and  novelty  that  the  Old 
World  can  afford.  I  shall  shower  my  love  on  you, 
not  myself.  In  return  I  shall  expect  your  tolerance. 
In  time  I  will  make  you  love  me." 


214  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

His  voice  shook  with  the  strength  of  his  passion, 
while  she  listened  in  heart-sick  fear.  Carried  away 
by  his  manner,  she  almost  felt  as  if  he  had  accom- 
plished his  object.  He  quieted  down  after  this. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Ruth,  that  all  this  change  must 
make  you  forget  ?  And  if  you  tried  to  put  the  past 
from  you  for  no  other  reason  than  that  your  wifehood 
would  be  less  untrue,  you  would  be  but  following  the 
instincts  of  a  truly  honorable  woman.  After  that,  all 
would  be  easy.  In  every  instance  you  would  be 
forced  to  look  upon  me  as  your  husband,  for  you 
would  belong  to  me.  I  should  be  the  author  of  all 
your  surroundings ;  and  always  keeping  in  mind  how 
I  want  you  to  regard  me,  I  should  woo  you  so  ten- 
derly that  without  knowing  it  you  would  finally  yield. 
Then,  and  only  then,  when  I  had  rilled  your  thought 
to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  man,  I  should  bring 
you  home ;  and  I  think  we  should  be  happy." 

"  And  you  would  be  satisfied  to  give  so  much  and 
receive  so  little? " 

"  The  end  would  repay  me." 

"It  is  a  pretty  story,"  she  said,  letting  her  hands  fall 
listlessly  into  her  lap,  "  but  the  denouement  is  a  castle 
in  Spain  that  we  should  never  inhabit.  You  think 
your  love  is  strong  enough  to  kill  mine  first  of  all ; 
well,  I  tell  you,  nothing  is  strong  enough  for  that. 
With  this  fact  established  the  rest  is  needless  to  speak 
of.  It  is  only  your  dream,  Louis ;  forgive  me  that  I 
unwittingly  intruded  into  it ;  reality  would  mean  dis- 
illusion,—  we  are  happy  only  when  we  dream." 

"You  are  bitter." 

"  Our  relations  are  turned,  then ;  I  have  put  into 
practice  your  old  theories  of  the  uselessness  of  life. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.         21$ 

No  ;  I  am  wrong.  It  is  better  to  die  than  not  to  have 
loved." 

"  You  think  you  have  lived  your  life,  then.  I  can't 
convince  you  otherwise  now  ;  but  I  am  going  to  beg 
you  to  think  this  over,  to  try  to  imagine  yourself  my 
wife.  I  will  not  hasten  your  decision,  but  in  a  week's 
time  you  should  be  able  to  answer  me  yes  or  no.  If 
anything  can  help  my  cause,  I  cannot  overlook  it ;  so 
I  may  tell  you  now  that  for  some  occult  reason  your 
mother's  one  wish  is  to  see  you  my  wife." 

"  And  my  father?  "  her  voice  was  harsh  now. 

"  Your  father  has  expressed  to  your  mother  that 
such  a  course  would  make  him  happy." 

She  rose  suddenly  as  if  oppressed.  Her  face 
looked  hard  to  a  degree.  She  stood  before  him,  tall 
and  rigid.  He  stood  up  and  faced  her,  reading  her 
face  so  intently  that  he  straightened  himself  as  if  to 
receive  an  attack. 

"  I  will  consider  what  you  have  said,"  she  said 
mechanically. 

The  reaction  was  so  unexpected  that  he  turned 
giddy  and  caught  on  to  the  back  of  a  chair  to  steady 
himself. 

"  It  will  not  take  me  a  week,"  she  went  on  with  no 
change  in  her  monotone ;  "  I  can  give  you  an  answer 
in  a  day  or  two.  To-morrow  night,  perhaps." 

He  made  a  step  forward,  a  movement  to  seize  her 
hand ;  but  she  stepped  back  and  waved  him  off. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  cried  in  a  suppressed 
voice  ;  "  at  least  you  are  not  my  husband  —  yet." 

She  turned  hastily  toward  the  door  without  another 
word. 

"  Wait !  " 


216  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

His  vibrant  voice  compelled  her  to  turn. 

"  I  want  no  martyr  for  a  wife,  nor  yet  a  tragedy 
queen.  If  you  can  come  to  me  and  honestly  say,  « I 
trust  my  happiness  to  you,'  well  and  good.  But  as  I 
told  you  once  before,  I  am  not  a  saint,  and  I  cannot 
always  control  myself  as  I  have  been  forced  to  do  to- 
night. If  this  admission  is  damaging,  it  is  too  true  to 
be  put  lightly  aside.  I  shall  not  detain  you  longer." 

He  looked  haughty  and  cold  regarding  her  from 
this  dim  distance.  Her  gentleness  struggled  to  get 
the  better  of  her,  and  she  came  back  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  offended  you,  Louis ;  good- 
night. Will  you  not  pardon  my  selfishness?" 

His  eyes  gleamed  behind  their  glasses ;  he  did  not 
take  her  hand,  but  merely  bent  over  the  little  peace- 
offering  as  over  a  sacrament.  Seeing  that  he  had  no 
intention  of  doing  more,  her  hand  fell  passively  to 
her  side,  and  she  left  the  room. 

As  the  door  closed  softly,  Arnold  sank  with  a  hope- 
less gesture  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  He  was  not  a  stoic,  but  a  man,  —  a  French- 
man, who  loved  much ;  but  Arnold,  half-blinded  by 
his  own  love,  scarcely  appreciated  the  depths  of  self- 
forgetfulness  to  which  Ruth  would  have  to  succumb 
in  order  to  accept  the  guaranty  of  happiness  which  he 
offered  her. 

The  question  now  presented  itself  in  the  light  of  a 
duty :  if  by  this  action  she  could  undo  the  remorse 
that  her  former  offence  had  inflicted,  had  she  the 
right  to  ignore  the  opportunity?  A  vision  of  her 
own  sad  face  obtruded  itself,  but  she  put  it  sternly 
from  her.  If  she  were  to  do  this  thing,  the  motive 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

alone  must  be  considered ;  and  she  rigidly  kept  in 
view  the  fact  that  her  marriage  would  be  the  only 
means  by  which  her  father  might  be  relieved  of  the 
haunting  knowledge  of  her  lost  peace  of  mind.  Had 
she  given  one  thought  to  Louis,  the  possibility  of  the 
act  would  have  been  abhorrent  to  her.  One  picture 
she  kept  constantly  before  her,  —  her  father's  happy 
eyes. 


2l8          OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

MRS.  LEVICE'S  gaze  strayed  pensively  from  the 
violets  she  was  embroidering  to  Ruth's  pale 
face.  Every  time  the  latter  stirred,  her  mother 
started  expectantly ;  but  the  anxiously  awaited  dis- 
closure was  not  forthcoming.  Outside  the  rain  kept 
up  a  sullen  downpour,  deepening  the  feeling  of  comfort 
indoors ;  but  Mrs.  Levice  was  not  what  one  might 
call  comfortably-minded.  Her  frequent  inventories 
of  Ruth's  face  had  at  last  led  her  to  believe  that  the 
pallor  there  depicted  and  the  heavy,  dark  shadows 
about  her  eyes  meant  something  decidedly  not 
gladsome. 

"Don't  you  feel  well,   Ruth?"  she  asked  finally 
with  some  anxiety. 

Ruth  raised  her  heavy  eyes. 

"I?     Oh,  I  feel  perfectly  well.     Why  do  you  ask? 
Do  I  look  ill?" 

"  Yes,  you   do ;  your  face  is  pale,  and  your  eyes 
look  tired.     Did  you  sit  up  late  last  night?  " 

This  was   a   leading  move,    but  Ruth  evaded  the 
deeper  meaning  that  was  so  evident  to  her  now. 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  I  believe  it  could  not  have 
been  nine  when  I  went  upstairs." 

"Why?     Were  you  too  fatigued  to  sit  up,  or  was 
Louis's  company  unpleasant?" 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL.          21 9 

"  Oh,  no,"  was  the  abrupt  response,  and  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  open  page  again. 

Mrs.  Levice,  once  started  on  the  trail,  was  not  to  be 
baffled  by  such  tactics.  Since  Ruth  was  not  ill,  she 
had  had  some  mental  disturbance  of  which  her 
weary  appearance  was  the  consequence.  She  felt 
almost  positive  that  Louis  had  made  some  advances 
last  night,  from  the  flash  of  intelligence  with  which 
he  had  met  her  telegraphic  expression.  It  was  nat- 
ural for  her  to  be  curious ;  it  was  unnatural  for  Ruth 
to  be  so  reserved.  With  feelings  not  a  little  hurt  she 
decided  to  know  something  more. 

"  For  my  part,"  she  observed,  as  if  continuing  a 
discussion,  "  I  think  Louis  charming  in  a  tete-a-tete,  — 
when  he  feels  inclined  to  be  interesting  he  generally 
succeeds.  Did  he  tell  you  anything  worth  repeating  ? 
It  is  a  dull  afternoon,  and  you  might  entertain  me  a 
little." 

She  looked  up  from  the  violet  petal  she  had  just 
completed  and  encountered  Ruth's  full,  questioning 
gaze. 

"What  is  it  you  would  like  to  know,  Mamma?" 
she  asked  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"  Nothing  that  you  do  not  wish  to  tell,"  her 
mother  answered  proudly,  but  regarding  her  intently. 

Ruth  passed  her  hand  wearily  across  her  brow,  and 
considered  a  moment  before  answering. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  you  by  my  silence, 
Mamma  j  but  before  I  had  decided  I  hardly  thought 
it  necessary  to  say  anything.  He  asked  me  to  — 
marry  him." 

The  avowal  was  not  made  with  the  conventional 
confusion  and  trembling. 


220  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Mrs.  Levice  was  startled  by  the  dead  calm  of  her 
manner. 

"  You  say  that  as  if  it  were  a  daily  occurrence  for 
a  man  like  Louis  Arnold  to  offer  you  his  hand  and 
name." 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  But  you  do.  I  confess  I  think  you  are  not  one 
tenth  as  excited  as  I  am.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  before  ?  Any  other  girl  would  have  sat  up  to  tell 
her  mother  in  the  night.  Oh,  Ruth  darling,  I  am  so 
glad.  I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this  ever  since 
you  grew  up.  What  did  you  mean  by  saying  you 
wished  to  wait  till  you  had  decided?  Decided 
what?" 

"  Upon  my  answer." 

"  As  if  you  could  question  it,  you  fortunate  girl ! 
Or  were  you  waiting  for  me  to  help  you  to  it?  I 
scarcely  need  tell  you  how  you  have  been  honored." 

"  Honor  is  not  everything,  Mamma." 

At  that  moment  a  desperate  longing  for  her 
mother's  sympathy  seized  her;  but  the  next  minute 
the  knowledge  of  the  needless  sorrow  it  would  occa- 
sion came  to  her,  and  her  lips  remained  closed. 

"  No,"  responded  her  mother,  "  and  you  have 
more  than  that ;  surely  Louis  did  not  neglect  to 
tell  you." 

"You  mean  his  love,  I  suppose, — yes,  I  have 
that." 

"  Then  what  else  would  you  have  ?  You  probably 
know  that  he  can  give  you  every  luxury  within  reason, 
—  so  much  for  honest  practicality.  As  to  Louis  him- 
self, the  most  fastidious  could  find  nothing  to  cavil 
at,  —  he  will  make  you  a  perfect  husband.  You  are 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  221 

familiar  enough  with  him  to  know  his  faults ;  but  no 
man  is  faultless.  I  hope  you  are  not  so  silly  as  to 
expect  some  girlish  ideal,  —  for  all  the  ideals  died 
in  the  Golden  Age,  you  know." 

"  As  mine  did.  No ;  I  have  outgrown  imagination 
in  that  line." 

"Then  why  do  you  hesitate?  "  Her  mother's  eyes 
were  shining;  her  face  was  alive  with  the  excite- 
ment of  hope  fulfilled.  "  Is  there  anything  else 
wanting?  " 

"No,"  she  responded  dully;  "but  let  us  not  talk 
about  it  any  more,  please.  I  must  see  Louis  again, 
you  know." 

"  If  your  father  were  here,  he  could  help  you 
better,  dear ; "  there  was  no  reproach  in  Mrs. 
Levice's  gentle  acceptance  of  the  fact ;  "  he  will  be 
so  happy  over  it.  There,  kiss  me,  girlie  ;  I  know 
you  like  to  think  things  out  in  silence,  and  I  shall 
not  say  another  word  about  it  till  you  give  me 
leave." 

She  kept  her  word.  The  dreary  afternoon  dragged 
on.  By  four  o'clock  it  was  growing  dark,  and  Mrs. 
Levice  became  restless. 

"I  am  going  to  my  room  to  write  to  your  father 
now,  —  he  shall  have  a  good  scolding  for  the  non- 
receipt  of  a  letter  to-day ;  "  and  forthwith  she  betook 
herself  upstairs. 

Ruth  closed  her  book  and  moved  restlessly  about 
the  room.  She  wandered  over  to  the  front  window, 
and  drawing  aside  the  silken  curtain,  looked  out  into 
the  storm-tossed  garden.  The  pale  heliotropes  lay 
wet  and  sweet  against  the  trellises  ;  some  loosened  rose- 
petals  fluttered  noiselessly  to  the  ground;  only  the 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

gorgeous  chrysanthemums  looked  proudly  indifferent 
to  the  elements ;  and  the  beautiful,  stately  palm-tree 
just  at  the  side  of  the  window  spread  its  gracious  arms 
like  a  protecting  temple.  She  felt  suddenly  oppressed 
and  feverish,  and  threw  open  the  long  French  window. 
The  rain  had  ceased  for  the  time,  and  she  stepped  out 
upon  the  veranda.  The  fragrance  of  the  rain- soaked 
flowers  stole  to  her  senses ;  the  soft,  sweet  breeze 
caressed  her  temples ;  she  stood  still  in  the  perfumed 
freshness  and  enjoyed  its  peace.  By  and  by  she 
began  to  walk  up  and  down.  Evening  was  approach- 
ing, and  Louis  would  soon  be  home.  She  had  decided 
to  meet  him  on  his  return  and  have  it  over  with. 
She  must  school  herself  to  some  show  of  graciousness. 
The  thing  must  not  be  done  by  halves  or  it  must  not 
be  done  at  all.  Her  father's  happiness ;  over  and 
over  she  repeated  it.  She  went  so  far  as  to  picture 
herself  in  his  arms ;  she  heard  the  old-time  words  of 
blessing ;  she  saw  his  smiling  eyes ;  and  a  gentleness 
stole  over  her  whole  face,  a  gentle  nobility  that  made 
it  strangely  sweet.  The  soft  patter  of  rain  on  the 
gravel  roused  her,  and  she  went  in ;  but  she  felt 
better,  and  wished  Louis  might  come  in  while  the 
mood  was  upon  her. 

It  was  nearing  six  when  Mrs.  Levice  came  back 
humming  a  song. 

"  I  thought  you  would  still  be  here.  Make  a  light, 
will  you,  Ruth ;  it  is  as  pitchy  as  Hades,  only  that 
smouldering  log  looks  purgatorial." 

Ruth  lit  the  gas ;  and  as  she  stood  with  upturned 
eyes  adjusting  the  burner,  her  mother  noticed  that 
the  heaviness  had  departed  from  her  face.  She  sank 
into  a  rocker  and  took  up  the  evening  paper. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  223 

"What  time  is  it,  Ruth?" 

"Twenty  minutes  to  six,"  she  answered,  glancing 
at  the  clock. 

"As  late  as  that?"  She  meant  to  say,  "And 
•Louis  not  home  yet?"  but  forbore  to  mention  his 
name. 

"  It  is  raining  heavily  now,"  said  Ruth,  throwing  a 
log  upon  the  fire.  Mrs.  Levice  unfolded  the  crack- 
ling newspaper,  and  Ruth  moved  over  to  the  window 
to  draw  down  the  blinds.  As  she  stood  looking  out 
with  her  hand  on  the  chair,  she  saw  the  gate  swing 
slowly  open,  and  a  messenger-boy  came  dawdling 
up  the  walk  as  if  the  sun  were  streaming  full  upon 
him. 

Ruth  stepped  noiselessly  out,  meaning  to  anticipate 
his  ring.  A  vague  foreboding  drove  the  blood  from 
her  lips  as  she  stood  waiting  at  the  open  hall- door. 
Seeing  the  streaming  light,  the  boy  managed  to 
accelerate  his  snail's  pace. 

"  Miss  Ruth  Levice  live  here?"  he  asked,  stopping 
in  the  doorway. 

"Yes."  She  took  the  packet  he  handed  her. 
"Any  charges  or  answer?"  she  asked. 

"  No  'm,"  answered  the  boy ;  and  noticing  her 
pallor  and  apprehension,  "  I  '11  shet  the  door  for 
you,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"  Thank  you.  Here,  take  two  cars  if  necessary ;  it  is 
too  wet  to  walk."  She  handed  him  a  quarter,  and  the 
boy  went  off,  gayly  whistling. 

She  closed  the  heavy  door  softly  and  sat  down  on 
a  chair.  She  recognized  Louis's  handwriting  on 
the  wrapper,  and  her  heart  fluttered  ominously.  She 
tore  off  the  damp  covering,  and  the  first  thin£  she 


224  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

encountered   was    another    wrapper    on   which   was 
written  in  large  characters  :  — 

DEAR  RUTH,  —  Do  not  be  alarmed  ;  everything  is  all 
right.  I  had  to  leave  town  on  the  overland  at  6  p.  M. 
Read  the  letter  first,  then  the  telegram;  they  will 
explain. 

Louis. 

The  kindly  feeling  that  had  prompted  this  warning 
was  appreciated;  one  fear  was  stilled.  She  drew 
out  the  letter;  she  saw  in  perplexity  that  it  was 
from  her  father.  She  hurriedly  opened  it  and  read  : 

NEW  YORK,  Jan.  21,  188 — . 

DEAR  Louis,  —  I  am  writing  this  from  my  bed,  where 
I  have  been  confined  for  the  last  week  with  pneumonia, 
although  I  managed  to  write  a  daily  postal.  Have  been 
quite  ill,  but  am  on  the  mend  and  only  anxious  to  start 
home  again.  I  really  cannot  rest  here,  and  have  made 
arrangements  to  leave  to-morrow.  Have  taken  every 
precaution  against  catching  cold,  and  apart  from  feeling  a 
trifle  weak  and  annoyed  by  a  cough,  am  all  right.  Shall 
come  home  directly.  Say  nothing  of  this  to  Esther  or 
Ruth  ;  shall  apprise  them  by  telegram  of  my  home-coming. 
Had  almost  completed  the  business,  and  can  leave  the 
rest  to  Hamilton. 

My  love  to  you  all. 

Your  loving  Uncle, 

JULES  LEVICE. 

Under  this  Louis  had  pencilled, 
Received  this  this  morning  at  10.30. 

Ruth  closed  her  eyes  as  she  unfolded  the  telegram ; 
then  with  every  nerve  quivering  she  read  the  yellow 
missive  :  — 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.         22$ 

RENO,  Jan?  27,  188— . 
Louis  ARNOLD,  San  Francisco,  Cal. : 

Have  been  delayed  by  my  cough.  Feeling  too  weak  to 
travel  alone.  Come  if  you  can. 

JULES  LEVICE. 

Her  limbs  shook  as  she  sat ;  her  teeth  chattered ; 
for  one  minute  she  turned  sick  and  faint.  Under  the 
telegram  Arnold  had  written  :  — 

Am  sure  it  is  nothing.  He  has  never  been  ill,  and  is 
more  frightened  than  a  more  experienced  person  would 
be.  There  is  no  need  to  alarm  your  mother  unnecessarily, 
so  say  nothing  till  you  hear  from  me.  Shall  wire  you  as 
soon  as  I  arrive,  which  will  be  to-morrow  night. 

Louis. 

How  could  she  refrain  from  telling  her  mother? 
She  felt  suddenly  weak  and  powerless.  O  God,  good 
God,  her  heart  cried,  only  make  him  well ;  only  make 
him  well ! 

The  sound  of  the  library  door  closing  made  her 
spring  to  her  feet ;  her  mother  stood  regarding  her. 

"What  is  it,  Ruth?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  she  cried,  her  voice  breaking  despite 
her  effort  to  be  calm,  —  "  nothing  at  all.  Louis  has 
just  sent  me  word  that  he  had  to  leave  town  this 
evening,  and  says  not  to  wait  dinner  for  him." 

"  That  is  very  strange,"  mused  her  mother,  moving 
slowly  toward  her  and  holding  out  her  hand  for  the 
note  •  but  Ruth  thrust  the  papers  into  her  pocket. 

"  It  is  to  me,  Mamma ;  you  do  not  care  for  second- 
hand love-letters,  do  you?"    she  asked,  assuming  a 
desperate  gayety.     "  There  is  nothing  strange  about 
it ;  he  often  leaves  like  this." 
'5 


226  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Not  in  such  weather  and  not  after  —  There 
won't  be  a  man  in  the  house  to-night.  I  wish  your 
father  were  home ;  he  would  not  like  it  if  he 
knew."  She  shivered  slightly  as  they  went  into  the 
dining-room. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          22? 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE  next  day  passed  like  a  nightmare.  To  add 
to  the  misery  of  her  secret,  her  mother  began 
to  fidget  over  the  continued  lack  of  any  communication 
from  her  husband.  Had  the  weather  been  fair,  Ruth 
would  have  insisted  on  her  going  out  with  her ;  but  to 
the  rain  of  the  day  before  was  added  a  heavy  wind- 
storm that  made  any  unnecessary  expedition  from 
home  absurd. 

Mrs.  Levice  worried  herself  into  a  headache,  but 
would  not  lie  down.  She  was  sure  that  the  next  de- 
livery would  bring  something.  Was  it  not  time  for 
the  second  delivery?  Would  not  Ruth  please  watch 
for  the  postman?  By  half-past  one  she  took  up  her 
station  at  the  window  only  to  see  the  jaunty  little 
rubber-encased  man  go  indifferently  by.  At  half-past 
four  this  scene  was  repeated,  and  then  she  decided 
to  act. 

"  Ring  up  the  telegraph-office,  Ruth ;  I  am  going  to 
send  a  despatch." 

"  Why,  Mamma,  probably  the  mail  is  delayed ;  it 
always  is  in  winter.  Besides,  you  will  only  frighten 
Father." 

"  Nonsense ;  two  days  is  a  long  delay  without  the 
excuse  of  a  blockade.  Go  to  the  telephone,  please." 

"  The  telephone  was  broken  yesterday,  you  know." 


228  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  had  forgotten.  Well,  one  of  the  girls  must  go ; 
I  can't  stand  it  any  longer." 

"  You  can't  send  any  of  the  girls  in  such  weather ; 
both  the  maids  have  terrible  colds,  and  Mary  would 
not  go  if  you  asked  her.  Listen  !  It  is  frightful.  I 
promise  to  go  in  the  morning  if  we  don't  get  a  letter, 
but  we  probably  shall.  Let  us  play  checkers  for  a 
while."  With  a  forced  stoicism  she  essayed  to  dis- 
tract her  mother's  thoughts,  but  with  poor  success. 
The  wretched  afternoon  drew  to  a  close ;  and  imme- 
diately after  a  show  of  dining,  Mrs.  Levice  went  to 
bed.  At  Ruth's  suggestion  she  took  some  headache 
medicine. 

"  It  will  make  me  sleep,  perhaps ;  and  that  will 
be  better  than  worrying  awake  and  unable  to  do 
anything." 

The  opiate  soon  had  its  effect ;  and  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  Ruth  heard  her  mother's  regular  breathing.  It 
was  now  her  turn  to  suffer  openly  the  fox-wounds. 
Louis  had  said  she  would  hear  to-night ;  but  at  what 
time  ?  It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  the  bell  might 
ring  at  any  moment.  Mrs.  Levice  slept ;  and  Ruth  sat 
dry-eyed  and  alert,  feeling  her  heart  rise  to  her  throat 
every  time  the  windows  shook  or  the  doors  rattled. 
It  was  one  of  the  wildest  nights  San  Francisco  ever 
experienced;  trees  groaned,  gates  slammed,  and  a 
perfect  war  of  the  elements  was  abroad.  The  wailing 
wind  about  the  house  haunted  her  like  the  desolate 
cry  of  some  one  begging  for  shelter.  The  ormolu 
clock  ticked  on  and  chimed  forth  nine.  Still  her 
mother  slept.  Ruth  from  her  chair  could  see  that  her 
cheeks  were  unnaturally  flushed  and  that  her  breath- 
ing was  hurried;  but  any  degree  of  oblivion  was 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  22Q 

better  than  the  impatient  outlook  for  menacing 
tidings.  Despite  the  heated  room,  her  hands  grew 
cold,  and  she  wrapped  them  in  the  fleecy  shawl  that 
enveloped  her.  The  action  brought  to  her  mind  the 
way  her  father  used  to  tuck  her  little  hands  under 
the  coverlet  when  a  child,  after  they  had  clung 
around  his  neck  in  a  long  good-night,  and  how  no 
sooner  were  they  there  than  out  they  would  pop  for 
"just  one  squeeze  more,  Father;"  how  long  the 
good-nights  were  with  this  play !  She  had  never 
called  him  "  papa  "  like  other  children,  but  he  had 
always  liked  it  best  so.  She  brushed  a  few  drops 
from  her  lashes  as  the  sweet  little  chimer  rang  out  ten 
bells  ;  she  began  to  grow  heart-sick  with  her  thoughts ; 
her  limbs  ached  with  stiffness,  and  she  began  a  gentle 
walk  up  and  down  the  room.  Would  it  keep  up 
all  night?  There  !  surely  somebody  was  crunching 
up  the  gravel- walk.  With  one  look  at  her  sleeping 
mother,  she  quickly  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
carefully  behind  her.  With  a  palpitating  heart  she 
leaned  over  the  balustrade ;  was  it  a  false  alarm,  after 
all?  The  next  instant  there  was  a  violent  pull  at  the 
bell,  as  startling  in  the  dead  of  the  night  as  some 
supernatural  summons.  Before  Ruth  could  hurry 
down,  Nora,  looking  greatly  bewildered,  came  out  of 
her  room  and  rushed  to  the  door.  In  a  trice  she 
was  back  again  with  the  telegram  and  had  put  it  into 
Ruth's  hands. 

"  Fifteen  cents'  charges,"  she  said. 

"  Pay  it,"  returned  Ruth. 

As  the  maid  turned  away,  she  tore  open  the 
envelope.  Before  she  could  open  the  form,  a  firm 
hand  was  placed  upon  hers. 


23O  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Give  me  that,"  said  her  mother's  voice. 

Ruth  recoiled ;  Mrs.  Levice  stood  before  her 
unusually  quiet  in  her  white  night-dress;  with  a 
strong  hand  she  endeavored  to  relax  Ruth's  fingers 
from  the  paper. 

"  But,  Mamma,  it  was  addressed  to  me.'* 

"  It  was  a  mistake,  then  ;  I  know  it  was  meant  for 
me.  Let  go  instantly,  or  I  shall  tear  the  paper. 
Obey  me,  Ruth." 

Her  voice  sounded  harsh  as  a  man's.  At  the  strange 
tone  Ruth's  fingers  loosened,  and  Mrs.  Levice,  taking 
the  telegram,  re-entered  the  room;  Ruth  followed 
her  closely. 

Standing  under  the  chandelier,  Mrs.  Levice  read. 
No  change  came  over  her  face ;  when  she  had 
finished,  she  handed  the  paper  without  a  word  to 
Ruth.  This  was  the  message  :  — 

RENO,  Jan.  28,  188— . 
Miss  RUTH  LEVICE,  San  Francisco,  Cal. : 

Found  your  father  very  weak  and  feverish  and  cough- 
ing continually.  Insists  on  getting  home  immediately. 
Says  to  inform  Dr.  Kemp,  who  will  understand,  and 
have  him  at  the  house  on  our  arrival  at  11.30  Thursday. 
No  present  danger. 

Louis  ARNOLD. 

"  Explain,"  commanded  her  mother,  speaking  in 
her  overwrought  condition  as  if  to  a  stranger. 

"Get  into  bed  first,  Mamma,  or  you  will  take 
cold." 

Mrs.  Levice  suffered  herself  to  be  led  there,  and  in 
a  few  words  Ruth  explained  what  she  knew. 

"You  knew  that  yesterday  before  the  train  left?  " 

"Yes,  Mamma." 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"And  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I  should  have 
gone  to  him.  Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  too  late,  dear." 

"No,  it  is  too  late  now;  do  you  hear?  I  shall 
never  see  him  again,  and  it  is  all  your  fault  —  what 
do  you  know  ?  Stop  crying  !  will  you  stop  crying, 
or  —  " 

"  Mamma,  I  am  not  crying ;  you  are  crying,  and 
saying  things  that  are  not  true.  It  will  not  be  too 
late  ;  perhaps  it  is  nothing  but  the  cough.  Louis  says 
there  is  no  danger." 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  her  mother,  her  whole  figure 
trembling.  "  I  know  there  is  danger  now,  this 
minute.  Oh,  what  can  I  do,  what  can  I  do?"  With 
this  cry  all  her  strength  seemed  to  give  way;  she 
sobbed  and  laughed  with  the  hysteria  of  long  ago ; 
when  Ruth  strove  to  put  her  arms  around  her,  she 
shook  her  off  convulsively. 

"  Don't  touch  me  !  "  she  breathed ;  "  it  is  all  your 
fault  —  he  wants  me  —  needs  me  —  and,  oh,  look  at 
me  here  !  Why  do  you  stand  there  like  a  ghost? 
Go  away.  No,  come  here  —  I  want  Dr.  Kemp ; 
now,  at  once,  he  said  to  have  him ;  send  for  him, 
Ruth." 

"  On  Thursday  morning,"  she  managed  to  answer. 

"  No,  now  —  I  must,  must,  must  have  him  !  You 
won't  go?  Then  I  shall;  move  aside." 

Ruth,  summoning  all  her  strength,  strove  to  hold 
her  in  her  arms,  all  to  no  avail. 

"  Lie  still,"  she  said  sternly ;  "  I  shall  go  for  Dr. 
Kemp." 

"  You  can't ;  it  is  night  and  raining.  Oh,"  she 
continued,  half  deliriously,  "  I  know  I  am  acting 


232  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

strangely,  and  he  will  calm  me.  Ruth,  I  want  to 
be  calm;  don't  you  understand?" 

The  two  maids,  frightened  by  the  noise,  stood  in  the 
doorway.  Both  had  their  heads  covered  with  shawls  ; 
both  were  suffering  with  heavy  colds. 

"Come  in,  girls.  Stay  here  with  my  mother;  I 
am  going  for  the  doctor." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ruth,  ain't  you  afraid  ?  It 's  a  awful 
night,  and  black  as  pitch,  and  you  all  alone?  "  asked 
one,  with  wide,  frightened  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  the  girl,  a  great  calmness 
in  her  voice  as  she  spoke  above  her  mother's  sob- 
bing ;  "  stay  and  try  to  quiet  her.  I  shall  not  be 
gone  long." 

She  flew  into  her  room,  drew  on  her  overshoes  and 
mackintosh,  grasped  a  sealskin  hood,  which  she  tied 
securely  under  her  chin,  and  went  out  into  the  howl- 
ing, raging  night. 

She  had  but  a  few  blocks  to  go,  but  under  ordinary 
circumstances  the  undertaking  would  have  been  dis- 
agreeable enough.  The  rain  came  down  in  heavy, 
wild  torrents ;  the  wind  roared  madly,  wrapping  her 
skirts  around  her  limbs  and  making  walking  almost 
an  impossibility ;  the  darkness  was  impenetrable  save 
for  the  sickly,  quavering  light  shed  by  the  few  street- 
lamps,  as  far  apart  as  angel  visitants.  Lowering  her 
head  and  keeping  her  figure  as  erect  as  possible,  she 
struggled  bravely  on.  She  met  scarcely  any  one,  and 
those  she  did  meet  occasioned  her  little  uneasiness 
in  the  flood  of  unusual  emotions  that  overwhelmed 
her  soul.  At  any  other  time  the  thought  of  her 
destination  would  have  blotted  out  every  other  per- 
ception ;  now  this  was  but  one  of  many  shuddering 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          233 

visions.  Trouble  was  making  her  hard ;  life  could 
offer  her  little  that  would  find  her  unequal  to  the 
test.  Down  the  broad,  deserted  avenue,  with  its 
dark,  imposing  mansions,  she  hurried  as  if  she  were 
alone  in  the  havocking  elements.  The  rain  beat  her 
and  lashed  her  in  the  face ;  she  faced  it  unflinch- 
ingly as  a  small  part  of  her  trials.  Without  a  tremor 
she  ran  up  Dr.  Kemp's  steps.  It  was  only  when  she 
stood  with  her  finger  on  the  bell-button  that  she 
realized  whom  she  was  about  to  encounter.  Then 
for  the  first  time  she  gave  one  long  sob  of  self- 
recollection,  and  pushed  the  button. 

Burke  almost  immediately  opened  the  door.  Ruth 
had  no  intention  of  entering ;  it  would  be  sufficient 
to  leave  her  message  and  hurry  home. 

"Who's  there?"  asked  Burke,  peering  out  into 
the  darkness.  "  It 's  a  divil  of  a  night  for  any  one 
but—" 

"  Is  Dr.  Kemp  in?  "  The  sweet  woman-voice  so 
startled  him  that  he  opened  the  door  wide. 

"Come  in,  mum,"  he  said  apologetically;  "come 
in  out  of  the  night." 

"No.     Is  the  doctor  in ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  grumbled,  "  and  I  can't  stand 
here  with  the  door  open." 

"  Close  it,  then,  but  see  if  he  is  in,  please." 

"  I  '11  lave  it  open,  and  ye  can  come  in  or  stay  out 
according  if  ye  are  dry-humored  or  wet-soled;  "  and 
he  shuffled  off.  The  door  was  open  !  Her  father 
had  assured  her  of  this  once  long  ago.  Inside  were 
warmth  and  light ;  outside,  in  the  shadow,  were  cold 
and  darkness.  Here  she  stood.  Would  the  man  never 
return?  Ah,  here  he  came  hurrying  along;  she 


234  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

drew  nearer  the  door;  within  a  half- foot  she  stood 
still  with  locked  jaw  and  swimming  senses. 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  the  grave,  kindly  voice 
which  calmed  while  it  unnerved  her,  "  come  in  and 
speak  to  me  here.  Am  I  wanted  anywhere?  Come 
in,  please ;  the  door  must  be  closed." 

With  almost  superhuman  will  she  drew  herself  to- 
gether and  came  closer.  Seeing  the  dark,  moving 
figure,  he  opened  the  door  wide,  and  she  stepped  in ; 
then  as  it  closed  she  faced  him,  turning  up  her  white, 
haggard  face  to  his. 

"You!" 

He  recoiled  as  if  stunned,  but  quickly  recovered 
himself. 

"What  trouble  has  brought  you  to  me?"  he 
cried. 

"  My  mother,"  she  replied  in  a  low,  stifled  voice, 
adding  almost  instantly  in  a  distant  and  formal  tone, 
"  can  you  come  at  once  ?  She  is  suffering  with 
hysteria  and  calls  you  incessantly." 

He  drew  himself  up  and  looked  at  her  with  a  cold, 
grand  air.  This  girl  had  been  the  only  woman  who 
had  signally  affected  his  life ;  yet  if  her  only  recog- 
nition of  it  was  this  cold  manner,  he  could  command 
the  same. 

"I  will  come,"  he  replied,  looking  unbendingly, 
with  steely  gray  eyes,  into  her  white  passionless  face, 
framed  in  its  dark  hood. 

She  bowed  her  head  —  further  words  were  impos- 
sible —  and  turned  to  the  door. 

He  watched  her  tugging  in  blind  stupefaction  at 
the  strange  bolt,  but  did  not  move  to  her  assistance. 
Her  head  was  bent  low  over  the  intricate  thing ;  but 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

it  was  useless,  —  it  would  not  move,  and  she  suddenly 
raised  her  eyes  beseechingly  to  him;  with  a  great 
revulsion  of  feeling  he  saw  that  they  were  swimming 
in  tears.  His  own  lips  trembled,  and  his  heart  gave 
a  wild  leap.  Then  one  of  those  unaccountable 
moods  that  sometimes  masters  the  best  swayed  him 
strongly. 

She  was  alone  with  him  there ;  he  could  keep  her 
if  he  wished.  One  look  at  her  lovely,  beloved  face, 
and  his  higher  manhood  asserted  itself.  He  un- 
latched the  door,  and  still  holding  it  closed,  said  in  a 
deferential  tone,  — 

"  Will  you  not  wait  till  I  ring  for  my  carriage?  " 

"  I  would  rather  go  at  once." 

Nothing  was  left  but  for  him  to  comply  with  her 
wishes ;  and  as  she  walked  out,  he  quickly  got  himself 
into  his  proper  vestments,  seized  a  vial  from  his  office, 
and  hurried  after  her.  At  this  juncture  the  storm  was 
frightful.  Up  the  street  he  could  see  some  one  try- 
ing ineffectually  to  move  on.  Being  a  powerful  man, 
he  strode  on,  though  the  great  gusts  carried  his  breath 
away.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  alongside  of  Ruth, 
who  was  making  small  progress. 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm?  "  he  asked  quietly.  "  It 
will  help  you." 

She  drew  back  in  alarm. 

"There  is  no  necessity,"  he  indistinctly  heard  in 
the  roar  of  the  gale. 

He  kept  near  enough  to  her,  however,  to  see  her. 
All  along  this  block  of  Van  Ness  Avenue  is  a  row 
of  tall,  heavy-foliaged  eucalyptus-trees;  they  tossed 
and  creaked  and  groaned  in  the  furious  wind.  A 
violent  gust  almost  took  the  two  pedestrians  off  their 


236  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

feet,  but  not  too  quickly  for  Dr.  Kemp  to  make  a 
stride  toward  Ruth  and  drag  her  back.  At  the 
same  moment,  one  of  the  trees  lurched  forward  and 
fell  with  a  crash  upon  them.  By  a  great  effort  he 
had  turned  and,  holding  her  before  him,  received  the 
greater  blow  upon  his  back. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked,  bending  his  head  so 
near  her  face  that  his  short  wet  beard  brushed  her 
cheek. 

"  No,"  she  said,  wresting  herself  from  him ;  "  I 
thank  you  —  but  you  have  hurt  yourself." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  Take  my 
arm,  please." 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  yea  or  nay ;  but  drawing  her 
arm  through  his,  he  strode  on  in  silence,  holding  it 
closely  pinioned  against  his  heart.  When  they 
reached  the  house,  they  were  both  white  and  breath- 
less. Nora  opened  the  door  for  them. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ruth,  do  hurry  up  !  "  she  cried,  wringing 
her  hands  as  the  doctor  threw  off  his  coat  and  hat ; 
"  all  she  does  now  is  to  stare  at  us  with  her  teeth  all 
chattering." 

The  doctor  sprang  up  three  steps  at  a  time,  Ruth 
quickly  following. 

The  room  was  in  a  blaze  of  light ;  Mrs.  Levice  sat 
up  in  bed,  her  large  dark  eyes  staring  into  vacancy, 
her  face  as  white  as  the  snowy  counterpane. 

Kemp  looked  like  a  pillar  of  strength  as  he  came 
up  to  the  bedside. 

"Well?  "  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  and  smil- 
ing at  her. 

As  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  she  strove  to  speak ; 
but  the  sobbing  result  was  painful. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          237 

"  None  of  that !  "  he  said  sternly,  laying  his  hand 
on  her  shoulders.  "If  you  try,  you  can  stop  this. 
Now  see,  I  am  holding  you.  Look  at  me,  and  you 
will  understand  you  must  quiet  down." 

He  used  his  well-known  power  of  magnetism. 
Gradually  the  quivering  shoulders  quieted  beneath  his 
hands  ;  the  staring  eyes  relaxed,  and  he  gently  laid  her 
head  upon  the  pillow. 

"  Don't  go  away ! "  she  implored  piteously,  as  she 
felt  his  hands  move  from  her. 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  replied  in  a  bright,  soothing 
voice ;  "  see,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  few  drops  of 
this,  which  will  make  you  all  right  in  a  short  time. 
Now  then,  open  your  mouth." 

"  But,  Doctor,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"  After  you  have  taken  this  and  rested  awhile." 

"  And  you  won't  go  away?  "  she  persisted. 

"  I  shall  stay  right  here."  She  obediently  swal- 
lowed the  dose ;  and  as  he  drew  up  an  easy-chair 
and  seated  himself,  the  drawn  lines  on  her  face 
relaxed. 

"It  is  so  strengthening  to  have  you  here,"  she 
murmured. 

"  It  will  be  more  strengthening  for  you  to  close 
your  eyes." 

Ruth,  who  still  stood  in  her  wet  clothes,  lowered 
the  lights. 

"  You  had  better  change  your  clothes  immediately," 
said  Kemp,  in  a  low  tone  from  his  chair. 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  at  his  voice  she  left 
the  room. 

Quickly  removing  her  wet  garments,  she  slipped 
into  a  loose,  dull  red  gown.  As  the  dry  warmth  of  it 


238  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

reached  her  senses,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  his 
feet  might  be  wet.  She  lit  a  candle,  and  going  into 
Louis's  room,  appropriated  a  pair  of  slippers  that 
stood  in  his  closet. 

It  was  now  past  midnight ;  but  no  thought  of  sleep 
occurred  to  her  till,  entering  her  mother's  room,  she 
perceived  in  the  semi-darkness  that  the  doctor  lay 
back  with  closed  eyes.  He  was  not  asleep,  however, 
for  he  opened  his  eyes  at  her  light  footfall.  She 
looked  very  beautiful  in  her  unconfmed  gown,  the  red 
tone  heightening  the  creamy  colorlessness  of  her  face. 

"  Will  you  put  them  on?  "  she  asked  in  a  hushed 
voice,  holding  out  the  slippers. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  replied,  looking  with 
hungry  eyes  into  her  face.  Seeing  that  he  did  not 
take  them,  she  placed  them  on  the  carpet.  The 
action  recalled  him  to  himself,  and  wishing  to  detain 
her,  he  said,  — 

"  Do  they  belong  to  a  man  as  big  as  I?  " 

"They  are  my  cousin's." 

She  had  half  turned  to  leave. 

"  Ah,"  he  returned,  "  and  will  he  relish  the  idea  of 
my  standing  in  his  shoes?" 

No  double-entendre  was  intended,  but  Ruth's 
thoughts  gave  one  miserable  bound  to  Arnold. 

"  He  will  be  pleased  to  add  to  your  comfort," 
spoke  Mrs,  Levice  from  the  bed,  thus  saving  Ruth 
an  answer. 

"  I  do  not  need  them,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  to 
her  swiftly ;  "  and,  Mrs.  Levice,  if  you  do  not  go  to 
sleep,  I  shall  leave." 

"  I  want  Ruth  to  stay  in  the  room,"  she  murmured 
petulantly. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  239 

"Very  well,  Mamma,"  said  Ruth,  wearily,  seat- 
ing herself  in  a  low,  soft-cushioned  chair  in  a  re- 
mote corner.  She  knew  how  to  sit  perfectly  still. 
It  was  a  peculiar  situation,  —  the  mother,  who  had 
been  the  means  of  drawing  these  two  together 
first  and  last,  slept  peacefully;  and  he  and  she, 
the  only  waking  mortals  in  the  house,  with  the 
miserable  gulf  between  them,  sat  there  without  a 
word. 

Ruth's  temples  throbbed  painfully ;  she  felt  weak  and 
tired ;  toward  morning  she  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep. 
Kemp  did  not  sleep ;  he  kept  his  face  turned  from 
her,  trying  to  quiet  his  thoughts  with  the  dull  lullaby 
of  the  rain.  But  he  knew  when  she  slept ;  his  gaze 
wandered  searchingly  around  the  room  till  it  fell  upon 
a  slumber-robe  thrown  across  a  divan.  He  arose  softly 
and  picked  it  up ;  his  light  step  made  no  sound  in  the 
soft  carpet.  As  he  came  up  to  Ruth,  he  saw  with  an 
inward  groan  the  change  upon  her  sleeping  face. 
Great,  dark  shadows  lay  about  her  eyes  not  caused 
by  the  curling  lashes ;  her  mouth  drooped  pathetically 
at  the  corners ;  her  temples,  from  which  her  soft  hair 
was  rolled,  showed  the  blue  veins ;  he  would  have 
given  much  to  touch  her  hair  with  his  hand,  but  he 
laid  the  cover  over  her  shoulders  without  touching 
her,  and  tucked  it  lightly  about  her  knees  and  feet. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  chair.  It  was  five  o'clock 
before  either  mother  or  daughter  opened  her  eyes ; 
they  started  up  almost  simultaneously.  Ruth  no- 
ticed the  warm  robe  about  her,  and  her  eyes 
sped  to  the  doctor.  He,  however,  was  speaking  to 
Mrs.  Levice,  who  in  the  dim  light  looked  pale  but 
calm. 


240  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  feel  perfectly  well,"  she  was  saying,  "  and  shall 
get  up  immediately." 

"Where  is  the  necessity?"  he  inquired.  "Lie 
still  to-day;  it  is  not  bad  weather  for  staying  in 
bed." 

" Did  not  Ruth  tell  you?  " 

"Tell  me?"  he  repeated  in  surprise. 

"  Of  the  cause  of  this  attack?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  I  must.  Briefly,  my  husband  has  been  in 
New  York  for  the  past  five  weeks ;  he  suffered 
there  with  acute  pneumonia  for  a  week,  told  us  noth- 
ing, but  hurried  home  as  soon  as  possible,  —  too 
soon,  I  suppose.  Day  before  yesterday  my  nephew 
received  a  letter  stating  these  facts,  and,  later,  a  tele- 
gram asking  him  to  come  to  Reno,  where  he  was 
delayed,  feeling  too  ill  to  go  farther  alone.  The 
first  I  heard  of  this  was  last  night,  when  Ruth  re- 
ceived this  telegram  from  Louis."  She  handed  it  to 
him. 

As  Kemp  read,  an  unmistakable  gravity  settled  on 
his  face.  As  he  was  folding  the  paper  thoughtfully, 
Mrs.  Levice  addressed  him  again  in  her  unfamiliar, 
calm  voice, — 

"  Will  you  please  explain  what  he  means  by  your 
understanding?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  suppose  it  is  expedient  for  me  to  tell  you 
at  once,"  he  said  slowly,  reseating  himself  and  paus- 
ing as  if  trying  to  recall  something. 

"  Last  year,"  he  began,  "  probably  as  early  as 
February,  your  husband  came  to  me  complaining  of 
a  cough  that  annoyed  him  nights  and  mornings ;  he 
further  told  me  that  when  he  felt  it  coming,  he  went 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING   EQUAL.  24! 

to  another  apartment  so  as  not  to  disturb  you.  I 
examined  him,  and  found  he  was  suffering  with  the 
first  stages  of  asthma,  and  that  one  of  his  lungs  was 
slightly  diseased  already.  I  treated  him  and  gave 
him  directions  for  living  carefully.  You  knew  noth- 
ing of  this?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  hoarsely. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on  gently,  "  there  was  no  cause 
for  worry ;  if  checked  in  time,  a  man  may  live  to 
second  childhood  with  asthma,  and  the  loss  of  a 
small  portion  of  a  lung  is  not  necessarily  fatal.  He 
knew  this,  and  was  mending  slowly;  I  examined 
him  several  times  and  found  no  increase  in  the 
loss  of  tissue,  while  he  told  me  the  cough  was  not 
so  troublesome." 

"But  for  some  weeks  before  he  left,"  said  Mrs. 
Levice,  "  he  coughed  every  morning  and  night. 
When  I  besought  him  to  see  a  doctor,  he  ridiculed 
me  out  of  the  idea.  How  did  you  find  him  before 
he  left?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  Mr.  Levice  for  some  months," 
he  replied  gravely. 

Mrs.  Levice  eyed  him  questioningly,  but  he  offered 
no  explanation. 

"  Then  do  you  think,"  she  continued,  "  that  this 
asthma  made  the  pneumonia  more  dangerous?" 

"  Undoubtedly." 

Her  fingers  clutched  at  the  sheet  convulsively; 
but  the  strength  of  her  voice  and  aspect  remained 
unbroken. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  for  telling  me  so 
candidly.  Then  will  you  be  here  to-morrow 


morning?" 


16 


242  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

11 1  shall  manage  to  meet  him  at  Oakland  with  a 
closed  carriage." 

"  May  I  go  with  you?  " 

"  Pardon  me ;  but  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  receive 
him  quietly  at  home.  There  must  be  nothing  what- 
ever to  disturb  him.  Have  all  ready,  especially 
yourself." 

"  I  understand,"  she  said.  "  And  now,  Doctor,  let 
me  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  me ;  "  she  held 
out  both  hands.  "  Will  you  let  Ruth  show  you  to  a 
room,  and  will  you  breakfast  with  us  when  you  have 
rested?" 

"  I  thank  you ;  it  is  impossible,"  he  replied,  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  "  I  shall  hurry  home  now.  Good- 
morning,  Mrs.  Levice.  There  may  be  small  cause 
for  anxiety ;  and,  remember,  the  less  excited  you  re- 
main, the  more  you  can  help  him." 

He  turned  from  her. 

"Ruth,  will  you  see  the  doctor  to  the  door?  " 

She  followed  him  down  the  broad  staircase,  as  in 
former  days,  but  with  a  difference.  Then  he  had 
waited  for  her  to  come  abreast  with  him,  and  they  had 
descended  together,  talking  pleasantly.  Now  not  a 
word  was  said  till  he  had  put  on  his  heavy  outer  coat. 
As  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob,  Ruth  spoke,  — 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  my  father,  do  you 
think?" 

She  started  as  he  turned  a  tired,  haggard  face  to 
hers. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  to  have  his  bed  in 
readiness  and  complete  quiet  about  the  house." 

"Yes;  and  —  and  do  you  think  there  is  any 
danger?" 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          243 

"  No,  no  !  at  least,  I  hope  not.  I  shall  be  able 
to  tell  better  when  I  see  him.  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you?" 

She  shook  her  head ;  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to 
speak  in  the  light  of  his  tender  eyes.  He  hastily 
opened  the  door,  and  bowing,  closed  it  quickly  be- 
hind him. 


244  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

r  I  ^HE  sun  shone  with  its  usual  winter  favoritism 
X  upon  San  Francisco  this  Thursday  morning. 
After  the  rain  the  air  felt  as  exhilarating  as  a  day  in 
spring.  Young  girls  tripped  forth  "in  their  figures," 
as  the  French  have  it ;  and  even  the  matrons  un- 
fastened their  wraps  under  the  genial  wooing  of 
sunbeams. 

Everything  was  quiet  about  the  Levice  mansion. 
Neither  Ruth  nor  her  mother  felt  inclined  to  talk ; 
so  when  Mrs.  Levice  took  up  her  position  in  her  hus- 
band's room,  Ruth  wandered  downstairs.  The  silence 
seemed  vocal  with  her  fears. 

"  So  I  tell  ye  's  two,"  remarked  the  cook,  as  her 
young  mistress  passed  from  the  kitchen,  "  that  darter 
and  father  is  more  than  kin,  they  is  soul-kin,  if  ye 
know  what  that  means;  an'  the  boss's  girl  do  love 
him  more  'n  seven  times  seven  children  which  such  a 
man-angel  should  'a'  had."  For  the  "boss"  was  to 
those  who  served  him  "  little  lower  than  the  angels ;  " 
and  their  prayers  the  night  before  had  held  an  elo- 
quent appeal  for  his  welfare. 

Ruth,  with  her  face  against  the  window,  watched  in 
sickening  anxiety.  She  knew  they  were  not  to  be 
expected  for  some  time,  but  it  was  better  to  stand 
here  than  in  the  fear-haunted  background. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          24$ 

Suddenly  and  almost  miraculously,  it  seemed  to 
her,  a  carriage  stood  before  the  gate.  She  flew  to 
the  door,  and  as  she  opened  it  leaned  for  one  second 
blindly  against  the  wall. 

"  Tell  my  mother  they  have  come,"  she  gasped  to 
the  maid,  who  had  entered  the  hall. 

Then  she  looked  out.  Two  men  were  carrying  one 
between  them  up  the  walk.  As  they  came  nearer,  she 
saw  how  it  was.  That  bundled-up  figure  was  her 
father's;  that  emaciated,  dark,  furrowed  face  was 
her  father's ;  but  as  they  carefully  helped  him  up  the 
steps,  and  the  loud,  painful,  panting  breaths  came  to 
her,  were  they  her  father's  too?  No  need,  Ruth,  to 
rush  forward  and  vainly  implore  some  power  to  tear 
from  yourself  the  respiration  withheld  from  him. 
Air,  air !  So,  man,  so ;  one  step  more  and  then 
relief.  Ah ! 

She  paused  in  agony  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  as 
the  closing  door  shut  out  the  dreadful  sound.  We 
never  value  our  blessings  till  we  have  lost  them ; 
who  thinks  it  a  boon  to  be  able  to  breathe  without 
thinking  of  the  action? 

He  had  not  seen  her ;  his  eyes  had  been  closed  as 
if  in  exhaustion  as  they  gently  helped  him  along,  and 
she  had  understood  at  once  that  the  only  thing  to  be 
thought  of  was,  by  some  manner  of  means,  to  remove 
the  choaking  obstacle  from  his  lungs.  Oh,  to  be  able 
in  her  young  strength  to  hold  the  weak,  loved  form  in 
her  arms  and  breathe  into  him  her  overflowing  life- 
breath  !  She  walked  upstairs  presently ;  he  would 
be  expecting  her.  As  she  reached  the  upper  land- 
ing, Kemp  came  from  the  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  His  bearing  revealed  a  gravity  she  had 


246  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

never  witnessed  before.  In  his  tightly  buttoned 
morning-suit,  with  the  small  white  tie  at  his  throat,  he 
might  have  been  officiating  at  some  solemn  ceremo- 
nial. He  stood  still  as  Ruth  confronted  him  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  and  met  her  lovely,  miserable  eyes 
with  a  look  of  sympathy.  She  essayed  to  speak,  but 
succeeded  only  in  gazing  at  him  in  speechless 
entreaty. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  responded  to  her  silent  appeal ; 
"  you  were  shocked  at  what  you  heard  :  it  was  the 
asthma  that  has  completely  overpowered  him.  His 
illness  has  made  him  extremely  weak." 

"  And  you  think  —  " 

"We  must  wait  till  he  has  rested;  the  trip  was 
severe  for  one  in  his  condition." 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,  please,  with  no  reservations ; 
is  there  danger?" 

Her  eager,  abrupt  questions  told  clearly  what  she 
suffered. 

"  He  has  never  had  any  serious  illness ;  if  the 
asthma  has  not  overleaped  itself,  we  have  much  to 
hope  for." 

The  intended  consolation  conveyed  a  contrary 
admission  which  she  immediately  grasped. 

"That  means  —  the  worst,"  she  said,  her  clasped 
fingers  speaking  the  language  of  despair.  "  Oh, 
Doctor,  you  who  know  so  much,  can't  you  help  him  ? 
Think,  think  of  everything ;  there  must  be  something  ! 
Only  do  your  best,  do  your  utmost ;  you  will,  won't 
you?" 

His  deep,  grave  eyes  answered  her  silently  as  he 
took  both  her  little  clasped  hands  in  his  one  strong 
one,  saying  simply, — 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          247 

"  Trust  me,  but  only  so  far  as  lies  within  my 
human  power.  He  is  somewhat  eased,  and  asks  for 
you.  Look  at  your  mother  :  she  is  surpassing  herself; 
if  your  love  for  him  can  achieve  one  half  such  a  con- 
quest, you  will  but  be  making  good  your  inheritance. 
I  shall  be  in  again  at  one,  and  will  send  some  medi- 
cines up  at  once."  He  ended  in  his  usual  business- 
like tone,  and  walked  hastily  downstairs. 

There  was  perfect  quiet  in  the  room  as  Ruth 
entered.  Propped  high  by  many  pillows,  Jules 
Levice  lay  in  his  bed ;  his  wife's  arm  was  about  him ; 
his  head  rested  on  her  bosom ;  with  her  one  disen- 
gaged hand  she  smoothed  his  white  hair.  Never  was 
the  difference  between  them  more  marked  than  now, 
when  her  beautiful  face  shone  above  his,  which  had 
the  touch  of  the  destroyer  already  upon  it ;  never  was 
the  love  between  them  more  marked  than  now,  when 
he  leaned  in  his  weakness  upon  her  who  had  never 
failed  him  in  all  their  wedded  years. 

His  eyes  were  half  closed  as  if  in  rest;  but  he 
heard  her  enter,  and  Mrs.  Levice  felt  the  tremor  that 
thrilled  him  as  Ruth  approached. 

"  My  child." 

The  softly  whispered  love-name  of  old  made  her 
tremble ;  she  smiled  through  her  tears,  but  when  his 
feeble  arms  strove  to  draw  her  to  him,  she  stooped, 
and  laying  them  about  her  neck,  placed  her  cheek 
upon.  his.  For  some  minutes  these  three  remained 
knit  in  a  close  embrace ;  love,  strong  and  tender, 
spoke  and  answered  in  that  silence. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  at  home,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
difficulty. 

"  It  was  not  home  without  you,  dear,"  murmured 


248  OTHER    THINGS  BEIATG  EQUAL. 

his  wife,  laying  her  lips  softly  upon  his  forehead. 
Ruth,  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  noticed  how  loosely 
the  dark  signet-ring  he  wore  hung  upon  his  slender 
finger. 

"  You  look  ill,  my  Ruth,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  Lay  my  head  down,  Esther  love  ;  you  must  be  tired. 
Sit  before  me,  dear,  I  want  to  see  your  two  faces 
together." 

His  gaunt  eyes  flitted  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  It  is  a  fair  picture  to  take  with  one,"  he 
whispered. 

"  To  keep  with  one,"  softly  trembled  his  wife's 
voice ;  his  eyes  met  hers  in  a  commiserating  smile. 

Suddenly  he  started  up. 

"Ruth,"  he  gasped,  " will  you  go  to  Louis?  He 
must  be  worn  out." 

She  left  the  room  hurriedly.  Her  faint  knock  was 
not  immediately  answered,  and  she  called  softly ;  re- 
ceiving no  reply,  she  turned  the  knob,  which  yielded 
to  her  hand.  Sunbeams  danced  merrily  about  the 
room  of  the  young  man,  who  sat  in  their  light  in  a 
dejected  attitude.  He  evidently  had  made  no  change 
in  his  toilet ;  and  as  Ruth  stood  unnoticed  beside 
him,  her  eyes  wandered  over  his  gray,  unshaven  face, 
travel-stained  and  weary  to  a  degree.  She  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Louis,"  she  called  gently. 

He  shook  under  her  touch,  but  made  no  further 
sign  that  he  knew  of  her  presence. 

"  You  must  be  so  tired,  Louis,"  she  continued 
sympathetically. 

It  may  have  been  the  words,  it  may  have  been  the 
tone,  it  may  have  been  that  she  touched  some  hidden 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.         249 

thought,  for  suddenly,  without  premonition,  his  breast 
heaved,  and  he  sobbed  heavily  as  only  a  man  can 
sob. 

She  started  back  in  pain.  That  such  emotion  could 
so  unstring  Louis  Arnold  was  a  marvel.  It  did  not 
last  long ;  and  as  he  rose  from  his  chair  he  spoke 
in  his  accustomed,  quiet  tone. 

"  Forgive  my  unmanliness,"  he  said  ;  "  it  was  kind 
of  you  to  come  to  me." 

"  You  look  very  ill,  Louis ;  can't  I  bring  you  some- 
thing to  refresh  you,  or  will  you  lie  down?  " 

"  We  shall  see ;  is  there  anything  you  wish  to  ask 
me?" 

"  Nothing." 

After  a  pause  he  said,  — 

"  You  must  not  be  hopeless ;  he  is  in  good  hands, 
and  everything  that  can  be  done  will  be  done.  Is  he 
resting  now?  " 

"  Yes  ;  if  to  breathe  like  that  is  to  rest.  Oh,  Louis, 
when  I  think  how  for  months  he  has  suffered  alone,  it 
almost  drives  me  crazy." 

"Why  think  of  it,  then?  Or,  if  you  must,  re- 
member that  in  his  surpassing  unselfishness  he  saved 
you  much  anxiety;  for  you  could  not  have  helped 
him." 

"  Not  with  our  sympathy?  " 

"  Not  him,  Ruth ;  to  know  that  you  suffered  for 
him  was  —  would  have  been  his  crowning  sorrow.  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  now?  " 

"  No,  only  think  of  yourself  for  a  moment ;  perhaps 
you  can  rest  a  little,  for  you  need  it,  dear." 

A  flame  of  color  burned  in  his  cheek  at  the  unusual 
endearment. 


250  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  shall  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  presently/'  she 
said  as  she  left  him. 

The  morning  passed  into  afternoon.  Silence  hung 
upon  the  house.  A  card  had  been  pinned  under  the 
door-bell ;  and  the  many  friends,  who  in  the  short 
time  since  the  sick  man's  arrival  had  heard  of  his  ill- 
ness, dropped  in  quietly  and  left  as  they  came. 

Dr.  Kemp  came  in  after  luncheon.  Mr.  Levice 
was  sleeping,  —  in  all  truth,  one  could  not  say  easily, 
but  the  doctor  counted  much  from  the  rest.  He 

expected  Dr.  H for  a  consultation.  This  he  had 

done  as  a  voucher  and  a  sort  of  comforting  assurance 

that  nothing  would  be  left  undone.  Dr.  H came 

in  blandly;  he  went  out  gravely.  There  was  little 
to  be  said. 

Kemp  walked  thoughtfully  upstairs  after  his  col- 
league had  left,  and  went  straight  to  Arnold's  room. 
The  freedom  of  the  house  was  his;  he  seemed  to 
have  established  himself  here  simply  through  his 
earnestness  and  devotion. 

"  Mr.  Arnold,"  he  said  to  the  Frenchman,  who 
quickly  rose  from  his  desk,  "  I  want  you  to  prepare 
your  aunt  and  cousin  for  the  worst.  You  know  this ; 
but  if  he  should  have  a  spell  of  coughing,  the  end 
might  be  sudden." 

A  cold  pallor  overspread  Louis's  face  at  the  confir- 
mation of  his  secret  fears. 

He  bowed  slightly  and  cleared  his  throat  before 
answering. 

"  There  will  be  no  necessity,"  he  said ;  "  my  uncle 
intends  doing  so  himself." 

"  He  must  not  hasten  it  by  excitement,"  said  Kemp, 
moving  toward  the  door. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2$  I 

"That  is  unavoidable,"  returned  Arnold.  "You 
must  know  he  had  an  object  in  hurrying  home." 

"  I  did  not  know ;  but  I  shall  prevent  any  unneces- 
sary effort  to  speak.  If  you  can  do  this  for  him,  will 
you  not?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  And  you  know  what  it  is  in  detail?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  for  his  sake  —  " 

"  And  for  the  others,  he  must  be  allowed  to  speak." 

Kemp  regarded  him  steadily,  wondering  wherein 
lay  the  impression  of  concealed  power  which  emanated 
from  him.  He  left  the  room  without  another  word. 

"  Dr.  H must  have  gone  to  school  with  you," 

panted  Levice,  as  Dr.  Kemp  entered ;  "  even  his  eyes 
have  been  educated  to  express  the  same  feeling ;  ex- 
cept for  a  little  —  " 

"  There,  there,"  quieted  Kemp ;  "  don't  exhaust 
yourself.  Miss  Levice,  that  fan,  please.  A  little 
higher?  How's  that?" 

"  Do  not  go,  Doctor,"  he  said  feebly ;  "  I  have 
something  to  say,  to  do,  and  you  —  I  want  you  — 
give  me  something  —  I  must  say  it  now.  Esther, 
where  are  you?" 

"  Here,  love." 

"  Mr.  Levice,  you  must  not  talk  now,"  put  in 
Kemp,  authoritatively;  "whatever  you  have  to  say 
will  last  till  morning." 

"And  I?" 

"  And  you.     Now  go  to  sleep." 

Mrs.  Levice  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"You  spoke  just  now  of  a  nurse,"  she  said  through 
her  pale  lips ;  "  I  shall  not  want  one  :  I  alone  can 
nurse  him." 


252  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  There  is  much  required ;  I  doubt  if  you  are 
strong  enough." 

"  I  am  strong." 

He  clasped  her  hand  in  assent ;  he  could  not  deny 
her. 

"  I  shall  come  in  and  stay  with  you  to-night,"  he 
said  simply. 

"  You.     Why  should  you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  too  love  him." 

Her  mouth  trembled  and  the  lines  of  her  face 
quivered,  but  she  drew  her  hand  quickly  over  it. 

Kemp  gave  one  sharp  glance  over  to  the  bed; 
Ruth  had  laid  her  head  beside  her  father's  and  held 
his  hand.  In  such  a  house,  in  every  Jewish  house, 
one  finds  the  best  nurses  in  the  family. 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

O  HAFTS  of  pale  sunlight  darted  into  the  room  and 
O  rested  on  Mr.  Le vice's  hair,  covering  it  with  a 
silver  glory,  —  they  trailed  along  the  silken  coverlet, 
but  stopped  there;  one  little  beam  strayed  slowly, 
and  almost  as  if  with  intention,  toward  Arnold,  seated 
near  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Ruth,  lovely  in  her  pallor, 
sat  near  him ;  Mrs.  Levice,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bed,  leaned  back  in  her  chair  placed  close  to  her 
husband's  pillow;  more  remote,  though  inadvertently 
so,  sat  Dr.  Kemp.  It  was  by  Mr.  Levice's  desire 
that  these  four  had  assembled  here. 

He  was  sitting  up,  supported  by  many  pillows ;  his 
face  was  hollow  and  colorless ;  his  hands  lay  list- 
lessly upon  the  counterpane.  No  one  touched  him  ; 
bathed  in  sunlight,  as  he  was,  the  others  seemed  in 
shadow.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  almost  a 
whisper,  but  it  was  distinctly  audible  to  the  four  in- 
tent listeners ;  only  the  clock  seemed  to  accompany 
his  staccato  speech,  running  a  race,  as  it  were,  with 
his  failing  strength. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  world,"  he  said  dreamily,  "  a 
very  beautiful  world ;  "  the  sunbeams  kissed  his  pale 
hands  as  if  thanking  him ;  no  one  stirred,  letting  the 
old  man  take  his  time.  Finally  he  realized  that  all 
were  waiting  for  him,  and  thought  sprang,  strong 
and  powerful,  to  his  face. 


254  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Dr.  Kemp,"  he  began,  "  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you,  —  to  you  in  particular,  and  to  my  daughter 
Ruth.  My  wife  and  nephew  know  in  brief  what  I 
have  to  say;  therefore  I  need  not  dwell  on  the 
painful  event  that  happened  here  last  September; 
you  will  pardon  me,  when  you  see  the  necessity,  for 
my  reverting  to  it  at  all." 

Every  one's  eyes  rested  upon  him,  —  that  is,  all 
but  Arnold's,  which  seemed  holding  some  secret 
communion  with  the  cupids  on  the  ceiling,  —  and  the 
look  of  convulsive  agony  that  swept  across  Ruth's 
face  was  unnoticed. 

"  In  all  my  long,  diversified  life,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
had  never  suffered  as  I  did  after  she  told  me  her  de- 
cision, —  for  in  all  those  years  no  one  had  ever  been 
made  to  suffer  through  me;  that  is,  so  far  as  I 
knew.  Unconsciously,  or  in  anger,  I  may  have  hurt 
many,  but  never,  as  in  this  case,  with  knowledge 
aforethought,  —  when  the  blow  fell  upon  my  own 
child.  You  will  understand,  and  perhaps  forgive, 
when  I  say  I  gave  no  thought  to  you.  She  came  to 
me  with  her  sweet,  renunciating  hands  held  out,  and 
with  a  smile  of  self-forgetfulness,  said,  '  Father,  you 
are  right ;  I  could  not  be  happy  with  this  man.'  At 
the  moment  I  believed  her,  thinking  she  had  adopted 
my  views ;  but  with  all  her  bravery,  her  real  feelings 
conquered  her,  and  I  saw.  Not  that  she  had  spoken 
untruly,  but  she  had  implied  the  truth  only  in  part. 
I  knew  my  child  loved  me,  and  she  meant  honestly 
that  my  pain  would  rob  her  of  perfect  happiness  with 
you,  —  my  pain  would  form  an  eclipse  strong  enough 
to  darken  everything.  Do  you  think  this  knowledge 
made  me  glad  or  proud?  Do  you  know  how  love, 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          255 

that  in  the  withholding  justifies  itself,  suffers  from  the 
pain  inflicted  ?  But  I  said, '  After  all,  it  is  as  I  think ; 
she  will  thank  me  for  it  some  day.'  I  was  not  alto- 
gether selfish,  please  remember.  Then,  as  I  saw  her 
silent  wrestling,  came  distrust  of  myself;  I  remem- 
bered I  was  pitted  against  two,  younger  and  no  more 
fallible  than  myself.  As  soon  as  doubt  of  myself  at- 
tacked me,  I  strove  to  look  on  the  other  side ;  I 
strove  to  rid  myself  of  the  old  prejudices,  the  old 
superstitions,  the  old  narrowness  of  faith ;  it  was  use- 
less, —  I  was  too  old,  and  my  prejudices  had  become 
part  of  me.  It  was  in  this  state  of  perturbation  that 
I  had  gone  one  day  up  to  the  top  floor  of  the  Palace 
Hotel.  Thank  you,  Doctor." 

The  latter  had  quietly  risen  and  administered  a  stim- 
ulant. As  he  resumed  his  seat,  Levice  continued : 

"  I  was  seated  at  a  window  overlooking  Market 
Street.  Below  me  surged  a  black  mass  of  crowding, 
jostling,  hurrying  beings,  so  far  removed  they  seemed 
like  little  dots,  each  as  large  and  no  larger  than  his 
fellows.  Above  them  stretched  the  same  blue  arch 
of  heaven,  they  breathed  the  same  air,  trod  in  each 
other's  footsteps ;  and  yet  I  knew  they  were  all  so 
different, — ignorance  walked  with  enlightenment,  vice 
with  virtue,  rich  with  poor,  low  with  high,  —  but  I  felt, 
poised  thus  above  them,  that  they  were  creatures  of 
the  same  God.  Go  once  thus,  and  you  will  under- 
stand the  feeling.  And  so  I  judged  these  aliens. 
Which  was  greater ;  which  was  less  ?  This  one,  who 
from  birth  and  inheritance  is  able  to  stand  the  equal 
of  any  one,  or  this  one,  who  through  birth  and  in- 
heritance blinks  blindly  at  the  good  and  beautiful? 
Character  and  circumstance  are  not  altogether  of  our 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

own  making ;  they  are,  to  a  great  degree,  results  of 
inherited  tendencies  over  which  we  have  no  control, 
—  accidents  of  birthplace,  in  the  choosing  of  which 
we  had  no  voice.  The  high  *in  the  world  do  not  shine 
altogether  by  their  own  light,  nor  do  the  lowly  grovel 
altogether  in  their  own  debasement,  —  I  felt  the  ex- 
cuse for  humanity.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  one 
feeling,  —  only  God  can  weigh  such  circumstantial 
evidence ;  we,  in  our  little  knowledge  of  results,  pro- 
nounce sentence,  but  final  judgment  is  reserved  for  a 
higher  court,  that  sees  the  cross-purposes  in  which 
we  are  blindly  caught.  So  with  everything.  Below 
me  prayed  Christian  and  Jew,  Mohammedan  and 
Brahmin,  idolater  and  agnostic.  Why  was  one  man 
different  in  this  way  from  his  fellows?  Because  he 
was  born  so,  because  his  parents  were  so,  because  he 
was  bred  so,  because  it  seemed  natural  and  conve- 
nient to  remain  so, —  custom  and  environment  had 
made  his  religion.  Because  Jesus  Christ  dared  to 
attack  their  existing  customs  and  beliefs,  the  Jews, 
then  powerful,  first-  reviled,  then  feared,  then  slew 
him ;  because  the  Jews  could  not  honestly  say,  '  I 
believe  this  man  to  be  a  God,'  they  were  hurled  from 
their  eminence  and  dragged,  living,  for  centuries  in 
the  dust.  And  yet  why?  Because  God  withheld 
and  still  withholds  from  this  little  band  the  power  of 
believing  in  Christ  as  his  son.  Christians  call  this  a 
wilful  weakness;  Jews  call  it  strength.  After  all, 
who  is  to  be  praised  or  blamed  for  it?  God.  Then 
instead  of  beating  the  Jew,  and  instead  of  sneering  at 
the  Christian,  let  each  pity  the  other;  because  one, 
I  know  not  which,  is  weak,  and  because  the  other,  I 
know  not  which,  is  strong.  I-  left  the  building;  I 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

came  upon  the  street.  I  felt  like  saluting  every  one 
as  my  brother.  A  little  ragged  child  touched  me, 
and  as  I  laid  my  hand  upon  her  curly  head,  the 
thrill  of  humanity  shot  through  me. 

"  It  was  not  until  I  went  to  New  York  that  the 
feelings  I  then  experienced  took  on  a  definite  shape. 
There,  removed  from  my  old  haunts,  I  wandered 
alone  when  I  could.  Then  I  thought  of  you,  my 
friend,  of  you,  my  child,  and  beside  you  I  was  pitiful, 
—  pitiful,  because  in  my  narrowness  I  had  thought 
myself  strong  enough  to  uphold  a  vanishing  restric- 
tion. I  resolved  to  be  practical ;  I  have  been 
accused  of  being  a  dreamer.  I  grasped  your  two 
images  before  me  and  drew  parallels.  Socially  each 
was  as  high  as  the  other.  Mentally  the  woman  was  as 
strong  in  her  sphere  as  the  man  was  in  his.  Physically 
both  were  perfect  types  of  pure,  healthy  blood. 
Morally  both  were  irreproachable.  Religiously  each 
held  a  broad  love  for  God  and  man.  I  stood  con- 
victed ;  I  was  in  the  position  of  a  blind  fool  who, 
with  a  beautiful  picture  before  him,  fastens  his  critical, 
condemning  gaze  upon  a  rusting  nail  in  the  wall 
behind,  —  a  nail  even  now  loosened,  and  which  in 
another  generation  will  be  displaced.  Yet  what  was 
I  to  do?  Come  back  and  tell  you  that  I  had  been 
needlessly  cruel?  What  would  that  avail?  True,  I 
might  make  you  believe  that  I  no  longer  thought 
marriage  between  you  wrong;  but  that  would  not 
remove  the  fact  that  the  world,  which  so  easily  makes 
us  happy  or  otherwise,  did  not  see  as  I  saw.  In  this 
vortex  I  was  stricken  ill.  All  the  while  I  wanted  to 
hasten  to  you,  to  tell  you  how  it  was  with  me,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  I  never  could  get  to  you.  '  Is  this 


258  OTHER    THINGS   BEING  EQUAL. 

Nemesis/  I  thought,  <  or  divine  interposition?  '  So  I 
struggled  till  Louis  came.  Then  all  was  easier.  I 
told  him  everything  and  said,  '  Louis,  what  shall  I 
do  ?  '  '  Only  this,'  he  answered  simply  :  *  tell  them 
that  their  happy  marriage  will  be  your  happiness,  and 
the  rest  of  the  world  will  be  as  nothing  to  these  two 
who  love  each  other.'  " 

The  old  man  paused;  the  little  sunbeam  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  coverlet  and  gave  a  leap  upon 
Louis's  shoulder  like  an  angel's  finger,  but  his  gaze 
remained  fixed  upon  the  cupids  on  the  ceiling.  Ruth 
had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Mrs.  Levice 
was  softly  weeping,  with  her  eyes  on  Louis.  Dr. 
Kemp  had  risen  and  stood,  tall  and  pale,  meeting 
Levice's  eyes. 

"  I  believe  —  and  my  wife  believes,"  said  Levice, 
heavily,  as  if  the  words  were  so  many  burdens,  "  that 
our  child  will  be  happy  only  as  your  wife,  and  that 
nothing  should  stand  in  the  way  of  the  consumma- 
tion of  this  happiness.  Dr.  Kemp,  you  have  assured 
me  you  still  love  my  daughter.  Ruth  !  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  looking  only  at  her  father. 

"  Little  one,"  he  faltered,  "  I  have  been  very  cruel 
in  my  ignorance." 

"  Do  not  think  of  this,  Father,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  must,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his. 
"  Kemp,  your  hand,  please." 

He  grasped  the  strong  white  hand  and  drew  the 
two  together ;  and  as  Kemp's  large  hand  closed  firmly 
over  her  little  one,  Levice  stooped  his  head,  kissed 
them  thus  clasped,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  them. 

"  There  is  one  thing  more,"  he  said.  "  At  the  ut- 
most I  have  but  a  few  days  to  live.  I  shall  not  see 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          259 

your  happiness :  I  shall  not  see  you,  my  Ruth,  as  I 
have  often  pictured  you.  Ah,  well,  darling,  a  father 
may  be  permitted  sweet  dreams  of  his  only  child. 
You  have  always  been  a  good  girl,  and  now  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  to  do  one  thing  more  —  you  also, 
Doctor.  Will  you  be  married  now,  this  day,  here,  so 
that  I  may  yet  bless  your  new  life  ?  Will  you  let  me 
see  this  ?  And  listen,  —  will  you  let  the  world  know 
that  you  were  married  with  my  sanction,  and  did  not 
have  to  wait  till  the  old  man  was  dead  ?  Will  you  do 
this  for  me,  my  dear  ones?  " 

"  Will  you,  Ruth?  "  asked  Kemp,  softly,  his  fingers 
pressing  hers  gently. 

Ruth  stifled  a  sob  as  she  met  her  father's  eager 
eyes. 

"  I  will,"  she  answered  so  low  that  only  the  intense 
silence  in  the  room  made  it  audible. 

Levice  separated  their  hands  and  held  one  on  each 
of  his  cheeks. 

"Always  doing  things  for  her  ugly  old  father,"  he 
murmured ;  "  this  time  giving  up  a  pretty  wedding- 
day  that  all  girls  so  love." 

"  Oh,  hush,  my  darling." 

"  You  will  have  no  guests,  unless,  Doctor,  there  is 
some  one  you  would  like  to  have." 

"  I  think  not,"  he  decided,  noting  with  a  pang  the 
pale,  weary  face  of  Levice;  "we  will  have  it  all  as 
quiet  as  possible.  You  must  rest  now,  and  leave 
everything  to  me.  Would  you  prefer  Dr.  Stephens 
or  a  justice?  " 

"  Either.  Dr.  Stephens  is  a  good  man,  whom  I 
know,  however;  and  one  good  man  with  the  legal 
right  is  as  good  as  another  to  marry  you." 


26O  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

There  was  little  more  said  then.  Kemp  turned  to 
Mrs.  Levice  and  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips.  Arnold 
confronted  him  with  a  pale,  smiling  face ;  the  two 
men  wrung  each  other's  hands,  passing  out  together 
immediately  after. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          26 1 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

HERBERT  KEMP  and  Dr.  Stephens  stood  quietly 
talking  to  Mr.  Levice.  The  latter  seemed 
weaker  since  his  exertion  of  the  morning,  and  his  head 
lay  back  among  the  pillows  as  if  the  support  were 
grateful.  Still  his  eager  eyes  were  keenly  fastened 
upon  the  close-lipped  mouth  and  broad,  speaking 
brow  of  the  minister  who  spoke  so  quietly  and  pleas- 
antly. Kemp,  looking  pale  and  handsome,  answered 
fitfully  when  appealed  to,  and  kept  an  expectant  eye 
upon  the  door.  When  Ruth  entered,  he  went  forward 
to  meet  her,  drawing  her  arm  through  his.  They  had 
had  no  word  together,  no  meeting  of  any  kind  but 
right  here  in  the  morning ;  and  now,  as  she  walked 
toward  the  bed,  the  gentle  smile  that  came  as  far  as 
her  eyes  was  all  for  her  father.  Thought  could  hold 
no  rival  for  him  that  day. 

"This  is  Miss  Levice,  Dr.  Stephens,"  said  Kemp, 
presenting  them.  A  swift  look  of  wonderment  passed 
under  the  reverend  gentleman's  beetle-brows  as  he 
bent  over  her  hand.  Could  this  tall,  beautiful  girl  be 
the  daughter  of  little  Jules  Levice?  Where  did  she 
get  that  pure  Madonna  face,  that  regal  bearing,  that 
mobile  and  expressive  mouth?  The  explanation  was 
sufficient  when  Mrs.  Levice  entered.  They  stood 
talking,  not  much,  but  in  that  wandering,  obligatory 


262  OTFIER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

way  that  precedes  any  undertaking.  They  were  wait- 
ing for  Arnold ;  he  came  in  presently  with  a  bunch 
of  pale  heliotropes.  He  always  looked  well  and  in 
character  when  dressed  for  some  social  event ;  it  was 
as  if  he  were  made  for  this  style  of  dress,  not  the 
style  for  him.  The  delicate  pink  of  his  cheeks 
looked  more  like  the  damask  skin  of  a  young  girl 
than  ever ;  his  eyes,  however,  behind  their  glasses,  were 
veiled.  As  he  handed  Ruth  the  flowers,  he  said,  — 

"  I  asked  the  doctor  to  allow  me  to  give  you  these. 
Will  you  hold  them  with  my  love?  " 

"They-  are  both  very  dear  to  me,"  she  replied, 
raising  the  flowers  to  her  lips. 

Their  fragrance  filled  the  room  while  the  simple 
ceremony  was  being  performed.  It  was  a  striking 
picture,  and  one  not  likely  to  be  forgotten.  Levice's 
eyes  filled  with  proud,  pardonable  tears  as  he  looked 
at  his  daughter,  —  for  never  had  she  looked  as  to-day 
in  her  simple  white  gown,  her  face  like  a  magnolia 
bud,  a  fragrant  dream ;  standing  next  to  Kemp,  the 
well-mated  forms  were  noticeable.  Even  Arnold, 
with  his  heart  like  a  crushed  ball  of  lead,  acknowl- 
edged it  in  bitter  resignation.  For  him  the  scene 
was  one  of  those  silent,  purgatorial  moments  that  are 
approached  with  senses  steeled  and  thought  held  in  a 
vice.  To  the  others  it  passed,  as  if  it  had  happened 
in  a  dream.  Even  when  Kemp  stooped  and  pressed 
his  lips  for  the  first  time  upon  his  wife's,  the  real 
meaning  of  what  had  taken  place  seemed  far  away  to 
Ruth ;  the  present  held  but  one  thing  in  prominence, 
—  the  pale  face  upon  the  pillow.  She  felt  her 
mother's  arms  around  her ;  she  knew  that  Louis  had 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  that  she  had  drawn  his 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL,          263 

head  down  and  kissed  him,  that  Dr.  Kemp  was  stand- 
ing silently  beside  her,  that  the  minister  had  spoken 
some  gravely  pleasant  words ;  but  all  the  while  she 
wanted  to  tear  herself  away  from  it  all  and  fold  that 
eager,  loving,  dying  face  close  to  hers.  She  was 
allowed  to  do  so  finally ;  and  when  she  was  drawn  into 
the  outstretched  arms,  there  was  only  the  long  silence 
of  love. 

Kemp  had  left  the  room  with  Dr.  Stephens,  having 
a  further  favor  to  intrust  to  him.  The  short  an- 
nouncement of  this  marriage,  which  Dr.  Stephens 
gave  for  insertion  in  the  evening  papers,  created  a 
world  of  talk. 

When  Kemp  re-entered,  Levice  called  him  to  him, 
holding  out  his  hand.  The  doctor  grasped  it  in  that 
firm  clasp  which  was  always  a  tonic. 

"Will  you  kneel?  "  asked  Levice  ;  Kemp  knelt  be- 
side his  wife,  and  the  old  father  blessed  them  in  the 
words  that  held  a  double  solemnity  now :  — 

" '  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee. 

"  '  The  Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  thee  and 
be  gracious  unto  thee. 

"  '  The  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee  and 
give  thee  peace.'  " 

"  I  think  if  you  don't  mind,  dear,  I  shall  close  my 
eyes  now,"  he  said  as  they  arose. 

Ruth  moved  about,  closing  the  blinds. 

"  Don't  close  out  all  the  sun,"  said  her  father ;  "  I 
like  it,  —  it  is  an  old  friend.  After  all,  I  don't  think 
I  '11  sleep  ;  let  me  lie  here  and  look  at  you  all  awhile. 
Louis,  my  boy,  must  you  go?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  turning  back  from  the  door 
and  gliding  into  a  chair. 


264  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  Thank  you ;  and  now  don't  think  of  me.  Go  on 
talking ;  it  will  be  a  foretaste  of  something  better  to 
lie  here  and  listen.  Esther,  are  you  cold?  I  felt  a 
shudder  go  through  your  hand,  love.  Ruth,  give  your 
mother  a  shawl;  don't  forget  that  sometimes  some 
one  should  see  that  your  mother  is  not  cold.  Just 
talk,  will  you?" 

So  they  talked,  —  that  is,  the  men  did.  Their 
grave,  deep  voices  and  the  heavily  breathing  of  the 
invalid  were  the  only  sounds  in  the  room.  Finally, 
as  the  twilight  stole  in,  it  was  quite  still.  Levice  had 
dropped  into  a  sort  of  stupor.  Kemp  arose  then. 

"I  shall  be  back  presently,"  he  said,  addressing 
Mrs.  Levice,  who  started  perceptibly  as  he  spoke. 
"  I  have  some  few  directions  to  give  to  my  man  that 
I  entirely  forgot." 

"Could  not  we  send  some  one?  You  must  not 
stay  away  now." 

"  I  shall  return  immediately.  Mr.  Levice  does  not 
need  me  while  he  sleeps,  and  these  instructions  are 
important.  Don't  stir,  Arnold ;  I  know  my  way  out." 

Nevertheless  Arnold  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 
Ruth  gave  little  heed  to  their  movements.  Her 
agitated  heart  had  grasped  the  fact  that  the  lines 
upon  her  father's  face  had  grown  weaker  and  paler, 
his  breathing  shorter  and  more  rasping;  when  she 
passed  him  and  touched  his  hand,  it  seemed  cold  and 
lifeless. 

At  nine  the  doctor  came  in  again;  the  only  ap- 
preciable difference  in  his  going  or  coming  was  that 
no  one  rose  or  made  any  formal  remarks.  He  went 
up  to  the  bed  and  placed  his  hand  on  the  sleeping 
head.  Mrs.  Levice  moved  her  chair  slightly  as  he 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.         26$ 

seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  took 
Levice's  hand.  Ruth,  watching  him  with  wide,  dis- 
tended eyes,  thought  he  would  never  drop  it.  Her 
senses,  sharpened  by  suffering,  read  every  change  on 
his  face.  As  he  withdrew  his  hand,  she  gave  one 
long,  involuntary  moan.  He  turned  quickly  to  her. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  his  grave  eyes  scanning 
her  anxiously. 

"  Nothing,"  she  responded.  It  was  the  first  word 
she  had  spoken  to  him  since  the  afternoon  ceremony. 
He  turned  back  to  Levice,  lowering  his  ear  to  his 
chest.  After  a  faint,  almost  imperceptible  pause  he 
arose. 

"  I  think  you  had  all  better  lie  down,"  he  said 
softly.  "  I  shall  sit  with  him,  and  you  all  need  rest." 

"  I  could  not  rest,"  said  Mrs.  Levice  ;  "  this  chair 
is  all  I  require." 

"  If  you  would  lie  on  the  couch  here,"  he  urged, 
"  you  would  find  the  position  easier." 

"  No,  no  !  I  could  not." 

He  looked  at  Ruth. 

"  I  shall  go  by  and  by,"  she  answered. 

Arnold  had  long  since  gone  out. 

Ruth's  by  and  by  stretched  on  interminably. 
Kemp  took  up  the  "  Argonaut "  that  lay  folded  on 
the  table.  He  did  not  read  much,  his  eyes  straying 
from  the  printed  page  before  him  to  the  "  finis  " 
writing  itself  slowly  on  Jules  Levice's  face,  and  thence 
to  Ruth's  pale  profile ;  she  was  crying,  —  so  quietly, 
though,  that  but  for  the  visible  tears  an  onlooker 
might  not  have  known  it ;  she  herself  did  not,  —  her 
heart  was  silently  overflowing. 

Toward   morning   Levice  suddenly  sprang   up   in 


266  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

bed  and  made  as  if  to  leap  upon  the  floor.  Kemp's 
quick,  strong  hand  held  him  back. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked.  Mrs.  Levice 
stood  instantly  beside  him. 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Levice,  his  eyes  falling  upon  her,  "  I 
wanted  to  get  home ;  but  it  is  all  right  now.  Is  the 
child  in  bed,  Esther?" 

"  Here  she  is ;  lie  still,  Jules ;  you  know  you  are 
ill." 

"  But  not  now.  Ah,  Kemp,  I  can  get  up  now ;  I 
am  quite  well,  you  know." 

"Wait  till  morning,"  he  resisted,  humoring  this 
inevitable  idiosyncrasy. 

"  But  it  is  morning  now ;  and  I  feel  so  light  and 
well.  Open  the  shutters,  Ruth;  see,  Esther;  a 
beautiful  day." 

It  was  quite  dark  with  the  darkness  that  immedi- 
ately precedes  dawn ;  the  windows  were  bespangled 
with  the  distillations  of  the  night,  which  gleamed  as 
the  light  fell  on  them. 

Mrs.  Levice  seated  herself  beside  him. 

"It  is  very  early,  Jules,"  she  said,  smiling  with 
hope,  not  knowing  that  this  deceptive  feeling  was  but 
the  rose-flush  of  the  sinking  sun;  "but  if  you  fed 
well  when  day  breaks  you  can  get  up,  can't  he, 
Doctor?" 

"  Yes." 

Levice  lay  back  with  closed  eyes  for  some  minutes. 
A  quivering  smile  crossed  his  face  and  his  eyes 
opened. 

"Were  you  singing  that  song  just  now,  Ruth,  my 
angel?" 

"What  song,  Father  dear?  " 


OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          267 

"  That  — '  Adieu,  —  adieu  —  pays  —  amours '  —  we 
sang  it  —  you  know  —  when  we  left  home  together 
—  my  mother  said  —  I  was  too  small  —  too  small  — 
and  —  too  —  " 

Ruth  looked  around  wildly  for  Kemp.  He  had 
left  the  room ;  she  must  go  for  him.  As  she  came 
into  the  hall,  she  saw  him  and  Louis  hurriedly  advanc- 
ing up  the  corridor.  Seeing  her,  they  reached  her 
side  in  a  breath. 

"  Go,"  she  whispered  through  pale  lips ;  "  he  is 
breathing  with  that  —  " 

Kemp  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Stay  here  a  second ;  it  will  be  quite  peaceful." 

She  looked  at  him  in  agony  and  walked  blindly  in 
after  Louis. 

He  was  lying  as  they  had  left  him,  with  Mrs. 
Levice's  hand  in  his. 

"  Keep  tight  hold,  darling,"  the  rattling  voice  was 
saying.  "  Don't  take  it  off  till  —  another  takes  it  — 
it  will  not  be  hard  then."  Suddenly  he  saw  Louis 
standing  pale  and  straight  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  My  good  boy,"  he  faltered,  "  my  good  boy,  God 
will  bless  —  "  His  eyes  closed  again ;  paler  and  paler 
grew  his  face. 

"  Father  !  "  cried  Ruth  in  agony. 

He  looked  toward  her  smiling. 

"The  sweetest  word,"  he  murmured;  "it  was  — 
my  glory." 

Silence.  A  soul  is  passing ;  a  simple,  loving  soul, 
giving  no  trouble  in  its  passage ;  dropping  the  toils, 
expanding  with  infinity.  Not  utterly  gone ;  immor- 
tality is  assured  us  in  the  hearts  that  have  touched 
ours. 


268  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

Silence.  A  shadow  falls,  and  Jules  Levice's  work 
is  done ;  and  the  first  sunbeams  crept  about  him, 
lay  at  his  feet  a  moment,  touched  the  quiet  hands, 
fell  on  the  head  like  a  benediction,  and  rested 
there. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.          269 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"  T   THOUGHT  you  would  be  quiet  at  this  hour," 

X  said  Rose  Delano,  seating  herself  opposite  her 
friend  in  the  library,  the  Thursday  evening  after  the 
funeral.  They  looked  so  different  even  in  the  waning 
light,  —  Ruth  in  soft  black,  her  white  face  shining  like 
a  lily  above  her  sombre  gown,  Rose,  like  a  bright  fire- 
fly, perched  on  a  cricket,  her  cheeks  rosy,  her  eyes 
sparkling  from  walking  against  the  sharp,  cold  wind. 

"  We  are  always  quiet  now,"  she  answered  softly ; 
"  friends  come  and  go,  but  we  are  very  quiet.  It 
does  me  good  to  see  you,  Rosebud." 

"Does  it?"  her  sweet  eyes  smiled  happily.  "I 
was  longing  to  drop  in  if  only  to  hold  your  hand  for 
a  minute ;  but  I  did  not  know  exactly  where  to  find 
you." 

"Why,  where  could  I  be  but  here? " 

"I  thought  possibly  you  had  removed  to  your 
husband's  home." 

For  a  second  Ruth  looked  at  her  wonderingly; 
then  the  slow  rich  color  mounted,  inch  by  inch,  back 
to  her  little  ears  till  her  face  was  one  rosy  cloud. 

"  No  ;  1  have  stayed  right  on." 

"  I  saw  the  doctor  to-day,"  she  chatted.  "  He 
looks  pale;  is  he  too  busy?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  —  that  is,  I  suppose  so.  How 
are  the  lessons,  Rose  ?  " 


270  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"Everything  is  improving  wonderfully;  I  am  so 
happy,  dear  Mrs.  Kemp,  and  what  I  wished  to  say 
was  that  all  happiness  and  all  blessings  should,  I 
pray,  fall  on  you  two  who  have  been  so  much  to  me. 
Miss  Gwynne  told  me  that  to  do  good  was  your  birth- 
right. She  said  that  the  funeral,  with  its  vast  gather- 
ing of  friends,  rich,  poor,  old,  young,  strong,  and 
crippled  of  all  grades  of  society,  was  a  revelation  of 
his  life  even  to  those  who  thought  they  knew  him 
best.  You  should  feel  very  proud  with  such  sweet 
memories." 

"Yes,"  assented  Ruth,  her  eyes  quickly  suffused 
with  tears. 

They  sat  quietly  thus  for  some  time,  till  Rose,  ris- 
ing from  her  cricket,  kissed  her  friend  silently  and 
departed. 

The  waning  light  fell  softly  through  the  lace  cur- 
tains, printing  quaint  arabesques  on  the  walls  and  fur- 
niture and  bathing  the  room  in  a  rich  yellow  light. 
A  carriage  rolled  up  in  front  of  the  house.  Dr. 
Kemp  handed  the  reins  to  his  man  and  alighted.  He 
walked  slowly  up  to  the  door.  It  was  very  still  about 
the  house  in  the  evening  twilight.  He  pushed  his 
hat  back  on  his  head  and  looked  up  at  the  clear  blue 
sky,  as  if  the  keen  breeze  were  pleasant  to  his  temples. 
Then  with  a  quick  motion,  as  though  recalling  his 
thoughts,  he  turned  and  rang  the  bell.  The  latch- 
key of  the  householder  was  not  his. 

Ruth,  sitting  in  the  shadows,  had  scarcely  heard  the 
ring.  She  was  absorbed  in  a  new  train  of  thought. 
Rose  Delano  was  the  first  one  who  had  clearly 
brought  home  to  her  the  thought  that  she  was  really 
married.  She  had  been  very  quiet  with  her  other 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2? I 

friends,  and  every  one,  looking  at  her  grief- stricken 
face,  had  shrunk  from  mentioning  what  would  have 
called  for  congratulation.  Rose,  who  knew  only  these 
two,  naturally  dwelt  on  their  changed  relations.  Her 
husband  !  Her  dormant  love  gave  an  exultant  bound. 
Wave  upon  wave  of  emotion  beat  upon  her  heart ;  she 
sprang  to  her  feet ;  the  door  opened,  and  he  came  in. 
He  saw  her  standing  faintly  outlined  in  the  dark. 

"Good-evening,"  he  said,  coming  slowly  toward 
her  with  extended  hand ;  "  have  you  been  quite  well 
to-day?"  He  felt  her  fingers  tremble  in  his  close 
clasp,  and  let  them  fall  slowly.  "  Bob  sent  you  these 
early  violets.  Shall  I  light  the  gas?  " 

"If  you  will." 

He  turned  from  her  and  rapidly  filled  the  room 
with  light. 

"Where  is  your  mother?"  he  asked,  turning 
toward  her  again.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  the 
violets. 

"  Upstairs  with  Louis.  They  had  something  to  ar- 
range. Did  you  wish  to  see  her?"  To  judge  from 
Ruth's  manner,  Kemp  might  have  been  a  visitor. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  If  you  will  sit  down,  we  can 
talk  quietly  till  they  come  in." 

As  she  resumed  her  high-backed  chair  and  he 
seated  himself  in  another  before  her,  he  was  instantly 
struck  by  some  new  change  in  her  face.  The  far- 
away, impersonal  look  with  which  she  had  met  him  in 
these  sad  days  had  been  what  he  had  expected,  and 
he  had  curbed  with  a  strong  will  every  impulse  for 
any  closer  recognition.  But  this  new  look,  —  what 
did  it  mean?  In  the  effort  to  appear  unconcerned 
the  dark  color  had  risen  to  his  own  cheeks. 


2/2  OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

"  I  had  quite  a  pleasant  little  encounter  to-day," 
he  observed ;  "  shall  I  tell  it  to  you?  " 

"  If  it  will  not  tire  you." 

Keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  picture  over  her 
head,  he  did  not  see  the  look  of  anxious  love  that 
dwelt  in  her  eyes  as  they  swept  over  him. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  responded,  slightly  smiling  over  the 
recollection.  "  I  was  coming  down  my  office  steps 
this  afternoon,  and  had  just  reached  the  foot,  when  a 
bright-faced,  bright-haired  boy  stood  before  me  with 
an  eager  light  in  his  eyes.  '  Are  n't  you  Dr.  Kemp  ? ' 
he  asked  breathlessly,  like  one  who  had  been  running. 
I  recollected  him  the  instant  he  raised  his  hat  from 
his  nimbus  of  golden  hair.  '  Yes ;  and  you  are  Will 
Tyrrell,'  I  answered  promptly.  '  Why,  how  did  you 
remember  ? '  he  asked  in  surprise  ;  '  you  saw  me  only 
once.'  '  Never  mind  ;  I  remember  that  night,'  I  an- 
swered. '  How  is  that  baby  sister  of  yours  ?  '  '  Oh, 
she  's  all  right,'  he  replied,  dismissing  the  subject  with 
the  royalty  that  brotherhood  confers.  '  I  say,  do  you 
ever  see  Miss  Levice  nowadays  ?  '  I  looked  at  him 
with  a  half-smile,  not  knowing  whether  to  set  him 
right  or  not,  when  he  finally  blurted  out,  '  She  's  the 
finest  girl  I  ever  met.  Do  you  know  her  well, 
Doctor  ? '  '  Well/  I  answered,  '  I  know  her  slightly, 
—  she  is  my  wife.'  " 

He  had  told  the  little  incident  brightly;  but  as 
he  came  to  the  end,  his  voice  gradually  lowered, 
and  as  he  pronounced  the  last  word,  his  eyes  sought 
hers.  Her  eyelids  fluttered ;  her  breath  seemed 
suspended. 

"  I  said  you  were  my  wife,"  he  repeated  softly, 
leaning  forward,  his  hands  grasping  the  chair-arms. 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL.  2?$ 

"  And  what,"  asked  Ruth,  a  little  excited  ring  in 
her  voice,  —  "what  did  Will  say?" 

"Who  cares?"  he  asked,  quickly  moving  closer  to 
her ;  "  do  you  ?  "  He  caught  her  hand  in  his,  scarce 
knowing  what  he  said,  and  interlaced  his  fingers  with 
hers. 

"  Ruth,"  he  asked  below  his  breath,  "  have  you  for- 
gotten entirely  what  we  are  to  each  other?  " 

It  was  such  a  cruel  lover's  act  to  make  her  face 
him  thus,  her  bosom  panting,  her  face  changing  from 
white  to  red  and  from  red  to  white. 

"Have  you,  sweet  love?  "  he  insisted. 

"  No,"  she  whispered,  trying  to  turn  her  head  from 
him. 

"No,  who?" 

With  an  irrepressible  movement  she  sprang  up, 
pushing  his  hand  from  hers.  He  rose  also,  his  face 
pale  and  disturbed,  an  indescribable  fear  overpowering 
him. 

"  You  mean,"  he  said  quietly,  "  that  you  no  longer 
love  me,  —  say  it  now  and  have  it  over." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  in  exquisite  pain,  "  why  do  you 
tantalize  me  so  —  can't  you  see  that  —  " 

She  looked  so  beautiful  thus  confessed  that  with 
sudden  ecstacy  he  drew  her  to  him  and  pressed  his 
lips  in  one  long  kiss  to  hers. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Levice  and  Louis  came  down. 
Mrs.  Levice  entered  first  and  stood  still  \  Louis,  look- 
ing over  her  shoulder,  saw  too  —  nothing  but  Ruth 
standing  encircled  by  her  husband's  arm ;  her  lovely 
face  smiled  into  his,  which  looked  down  at  her  with 
an  expression  that  drove  every  drop  of  blood  from 
Arnold's  face.  For  a  moment  they  were  unseen  ;  but 

18 


274  OTHER    THINGS  BEING  EQUAL. 

when  Ruth,  who  was  the  first  to  feel  their  presence, 
started  from  Kemp  as  if  she  had  committed  a  crime, 
Arnold  came  forward  entirely  at  his  ease. 

Kemp  met  Mrs.  Levice  with  outstretched  hands 
and  smiling  eyes. 

"Good-evening,  Mother,"  he  said ;  "  we  had  just 
been  speaking  of  you."  Mrs.  Levice  looked  into  his 
deep,  tender  eyes,  and  raising  her  arm,  drew  his  head 
down  and  kissed  him. 

Ruth  had  rolled  forward  a  comfortable  chair,  and 
stood  beside  it  with  shy,  sweet  look  as  her  mother 
sat  down  and  drew  her  down  beside  her.  Sorrow  had 
softened  Mrs.  Levice  wonderfully;  and  looking  for 
love,  she  wooed  everybody  by  her  manner. 

"  What  were  you  saying  of  me  ?  "  she  asked,  keep- 
ing Ruth's  hand  in  hers  and  looking  up  at  Kemp, 
who  leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf,  his  face  radiant 
with  gladness. 

"  We  were  saying  that  it  will  do  you  good  to  come 
out  of  this  great  house  to  our  little  one,  till  we  find 
something  better." 

Mrs.  Levice  looked  across  at  Louis,  who  stood  at 
the  piano,  his  back  half  turned,  looking  over  a  book. 

"  It  is  very  sweet  to  be  wanted  by  you  all  now," 
she  said,  her  voice  trembling  slightly  :  "  but  I  never 
could  leave  this  house  to  strangers,  —  every  room  is 
too  full  of  old  associations,  and  sweet  memories  of 
him.  Louis  wants  me  to  go  down  the  coast  with 
him  soon,  stopping  for  a  month  or  so  at  Coronado. 
Go  to  your  cottage  meanwhile  by  yourselves ;  even  I 
should  be  an  intruder.  There,  Ruth,  don't  I  know? 
And  when  we  come  back,  we  shall  see.  It  is  all 
settled,  isn't  it,  Louis?  " 


OTHER   THINGS  BEING  EQUAL, 


2/5 


He  turned  around  then. 

"  Yes,  I  feel  that  I  need  a  change  of  scene,  and  I 
should  like  to  have  her  with  me  ;  you  do  not  need 
her  now." 

Ruth  looked  at  his  careworn  face,  and  said  with 
tender  solicitude,  — 

"  You  are  right,  Louis." 

And  so  it  was  decided. 


THE    END. 


LAUREL-CROWNED  TALES. 

ABDALLAH  ;  OR,  THE  FOUR-LEAVED  SHAMROCK.    By  Er> 
OUARD  LABOULAYE.    Translated  by  MARY  L.  BOOTH. 

RASSELAS,  PRINCE  OF  ABYSSINIA.    By  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

RAPHAEL;  OR,  PAGES  OF  THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE  AT  TWENTY. 
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THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.    By  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 
THE  EPICUREAN.    By  THOMAS  MOORE. 
PICCIOLA.    By  X.  B.  SAINTINE. 

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THE  LAUREL-CROWNED  LETTERS. 


The  Best  Letters  of  Lord  Chesterfield.     Edited,  with  an 
Introduction,  by  EDWARD  GILPIN  JOHNSON. 

The  Best  Letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.    Edited, 
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SAVONAROLA, 

HIS  LIFE  AND  TIMES. 
By  WILLIAM  CLARK,  M.A.,  LL.D. 

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PROFESSOR  CLARK  writes  in  popular  style,  thoroughly  explains 
the  intricate  political  system  of  Florence  in  its  transition  state,  and 
succeeds  in  giving  a  well-rounded  history  of  a  man  whose  character 
will  always  be  one  of  the  most  interesting  in  history  to  study. 

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As  a  contribution  to  a  proper  estimate  of  a  life  that  presents  so 
many  difficulties  to  the  historian,  this  study  of  Professor  Clark's  is 
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from  the  volume  a  very  satisfactory  conception  of  Savonarola's 
aims,  deeds,  and  influence.  — Public  Opinion,  Washington. 

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it  is  possible  for  an  enthusiastic  admirer  to  be  so.  It  is  frank  and 
full  also  in  reference  to  authorities.  —  Times,  Chicago, 

The  volume  covers  just  about  as  much  ground  as  the  general 
reader  is  likely  to  want,  and  is  the  best  popular  book  yet  produced 
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MARTHA  COREY. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT, 

By  CONSTANCE  GODDARD  DU  Bois. 

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THE  same  material  drawn  upon  by  Longfellow  for  his  "  New 
England  Tragedies"  is  here  used  with  greater  fulness  and  with  no 
less  historical  exactitude.  The  story  has  for  its  background  the 
dark  and  gloomy  pictures  of  the  witchcraft  persecution,  of  which  it 
furnishes  a  thrilling  view.  It  is  remarkable  for  bold  imagination, 
wonderfully  rapid  action,  and  continued  and  absorbing  interest. 

In  short,  it  is  too  good  a  piece  of  fiction  to  be  accepted  as 
truth,  which  is  to  the  credit  of  the  author's  imaginative  powers; 
for  "  Martha  Corey  "  is  an  absorbing  tale.  —  Public  Ledger, 
Philadelphia. 

The  story  is  curious  and  quaint,  differing  totally  from  the 
novels  of  this  day ;  and  the  pictures  of  life  among  the  early  in- 
habitants of  Massachusetts  show  that  the  author  has  been  an 
untiring  and  faithful  student  for  her  work.  —  Weekly  Item,  Phila- 
delphia. 

The  characters  are  well  delineated ;  the  language  is  smooth  and 
refined ;  and  from  frequent  change  of  scene  and  character  the  book 
is  rendered  very  entertaining.  The  passions,  love  and  hate,  are 
carefully  analyzed  and  faithfully  described.  It  is  a  valuable  little 
book.  —  Globe,  Chicago. 

An  interesting  tale  of  love  and  intrigue.  .  .  .  Miss  Du  Bois 
has  given  us  a  very  readable  book,  and  has  succeeded  where  others 
have  failed.  —  Advertiser,  Boston. 

The  story  of  this  book  is  pleasantly  told ;  and  as  a  picture  of 
those  sad  times,  when  some  of  the  worst  and  the  best,  of  the  dark- 
est and  the  brightest,  of  the  most  hateful  and  the  most  lovable 
traits  of  human  nature  were  openly  manifested,  is  well  worth 
reading.  — Illustrated  Christian  Weekly,  New  York. 

A  story  of  marked  strength,  both  of  imagination  and  narration, 
—  Home  Journal,  New  York. 


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7 


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